The Moderation of Joy
by SubtleMomentsofJoy
Summary: “No matter what life threw at her, she would never be her parents. She would give to their child, what they had taken from her. Joy.” Neither had ever fought harder, and still it happened. They took her Joy. Idea born from episode 4.25. B/B pairing.
1. Chapter One

**Authors' Note: **Hello all! We are finally here posting this story that we started...40 weeks ago. No word of a lie. The idea was born from episode 4.25 (The Critic in the Cabernet), though we were thinking pretty high of ourselves at the time, certain that we had the finale figured out before it aired (yeah, we were wrong), so for the sake of this story there will be no Booth brain tumour and no coma dream. Sorry. We liked that part, too. This is mine and Norah Pearly-Gates' first joint effort and we're beyond excited, so you should be excited, too! This is just a tiny taste of what is to come; most chapters will be heavily B/B in present day, so don't judge us to quickly! With that, I'll hand the reins over to Amanda, as I usually do, when I am finding my wittiness or entertaining abilities in short supply. Enjoy! And please, please review! Amanda?

_Hi folks! I still find it beyond funny and pitiful that Ashley and I were convinced we would finish our obnoxiously long story in two weeks. Which was over 40 weeks ago. Har har. We feel as if we have so much accomplished - which we do - but we haven't even posted on FanFic! Now that's all about to change. Please enjoy, sit back and immerse yourself in what we are presenting. _

**Spoilers: **All aired episodes, just to be safe. Heavy focus on episodes 4.25 and 1.13.

**Chapter Title:**_ I realized we were posting today and then remembered I didn't have a title for the chapter. So quickly putting my iPod on shuffle I scanned through my songs. At about number 32 I found it. It's aptly named "Title and Registration" and is from Death Cab For Cutie. Album... let me check. The flow of the song soon put my mind at ease for it perfectly suited the mood I wanted set for the opening chapter. Crisis averted. _

**Disclaimer: **We often pretend that we own David Boreanaz (I won't go into details, but you can guess what we do with that privilege), but alas, we do not. And we don't own _Bones _either. We do however, own Natalie and a few other characters you will meet along this journey. O_ur characters (from that of _Bones_) are our own, so don't steal what we have created._

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_"The only joy in the world is to begin."_

_- Cesare Pavese_

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_Prologue_

_I had never given much thought to my future. Not in the sense other kids my age did. Where they would travel to, what college they would choose, who they would become. Rather, I thought about the family I wanted, the mother I craved to have again. While others craved extravagant lives, wishing to fulfill their life-long dreams, I craved simplicity to its fullest. Entering the adult world meant nothing to me. I wasn't going to be free in any sense. Instead, I'd just continue living the life I've had for years. My father tried to encourage me, showing me the possibilities of what I could do. But we both knew it was futile. I would continue this life until I died. _

_This was my reality. A reality I couldn't escape. The only journey my imagination – my dreams – ever took me on led me straight back to this place. This dead end. This hopelessness. But for a few moments, a few solid moments before all that was real would come crashing down upon me, I would lose myself in an autumn blue sky._

_It always started with me, just me, standing there, hip high grass tickling my skin, the wind shifting, my hair dancing around me. It was the blueness of the sky that drew my eyes. I would stare at it endlessly watching as the pale blue changed into a soft teal, the depths swirling and shifting with life, looking like an adaptation of Van Gogh's Starry Night. That was the sign I was given, every time, showing me she was soon to come. She always came from the side, never directly in front of me, never from the back, but off to the side of my vision. Before I could turn to look at her, I would feel her hand grasp mine. Her fingers would intertwine themselves with mine and I would feel her hold tight. I would look up at the sky, with her by my side, and I find myself looking into a colour that my father could only describe as a Temperance blue. And I knew she was looking too._

~*~

Chapter One  
**Title and Registration**

**Friday, April 10, 2026 - 6:07 PM**

The little girl ahead of me was screaming again. Leaning my head against my propped up hand on the back of my seat I watch as she threw down her doll and cried. Her mother, ever so devoted, scooped her and her toy up, sitting them on her lap where the little girl instantly muffled her cries, hiding her face in her mother's shoulder.

I cocked my head to the side.

Was I ever like that? I remember faint moments of tantrums but it was my father that I always remember soothing or scolding me. Did my mother ever hold me like that? When I was that age, small enough to be carried on her hip? Pursing my lips, I turned my vision to the long line of people waiting to buy tickets for their train. I had been sitting here for nearly two hours, and I still hadn't decided which route I wanted to take. I knew I would have to leave soon. The little girl peeked over at me over her mother's shoulder. I wagged my fingers at her. Giggling, her eyes crinkling she hid her face again.

I wish I could hide like that. I used to be able too. I don't remember, but I was sure I had done it.

Feeling my book slipping off my lap, I grabbed it, securing it in my grasp. I had wanted to read the book for a while, but now... after the certain events I had been through I had lost interest. The main character's hair was dark brown and her boyfriend had blue eyes. And through those small, minute details all I could see was her brown hair and her blue eyes. Just like mine. I had wanted, so long, to actually see her, feel her, and know she was real. And now I did. Except I was leaving it all behind. I felt, like a sigh, the dark thoughts creep up; the nausea grew in the pit of my stomach as it wormed its way up my tightening throat. I squeezed my eyes shut as I saw her standing before me, her blue eyes piercing. Soul searching I would call it. I actually saw her frowning in my mind's eye, opening her mouth to prepare an argument for the fact there was no literal soul. And I knew her. I was a part of her, and even though I would never see her again, I felt it would have to be enough knowing how much we were alike.

The loud whistle of the leaving train startled me out of my withdrawn thoughts. I shook my head quickly, as a tired person may with fatigue, knowing I couldn't allow myself to cut off my senses like that. With my father always being by my side I didn't have to be as aware but now... I knew my matter of survival depended on how well I kept aware of my surroundings. A muffled announcement sounded throughout the wide hall, it sounded like somebody had a bad case of nasal congestion, and I was pretty sure it was a female talking.

Barely listening to the overhead announcements, I weaved my way through the thinning crowds – a train must be leaving soon – abandoning my hard chair in search of the pay phone I knew lay somewhere near the front entrance. A golden light was being cast into the station from the lowering sun, streaming in through the wide, thick windows that lined the whole front of the building. The stone floors gleamed and reflected the light, and I found myself having to squint against the startling glare. Reaching the payphone I dropped my bags unceremoniously onto the floor beside my feet as I picked up and cradled the phone on my shoulder. The monotone of the recorded phone voice spoke through asking for a deposit of coins and I fished for the handful of quarters that I knew lay in the pocket of my jeans.

I hesitated when I raised the first coin to the slot. Who would I call? I knew exactly who I wanted to talk to, but I knew that the choice I had made for leaving meant cutting off all connections. Just like last time, seven years ago. Except this time I was all alone. With a sigh I dialled the number of my home, listening to the rings, knowing nobody would pick up, for they were in a different state all together. This was safe. All I wanted was to hear a familiar voice.

The beep connected me to the voicemail and I held my breath as I awaited the answering machine, feeling the slow ache grow in me.

"Hi. You've reached Seeley... Portman - "

"And Natalie!"

"And Natalie. We're not available so leave us a message - "

"And we'll get back to you as soon as we please too!"

"Nat!" Laughter sounded throughout the tiny speaker. "Now we have to start all over again."

"It's fine dad. Is it still recording?" The line went dead for a few moments then beeped, indicated for me to speak. The voicemail had been created when we had first moved in, and despite our intentions of needing to fix it, we had never gotten around to it. And it seemed we never would now. Realizing I was still holding the phone, and that my answering machine in Wisconsin was most likely recording my breathing, I hung up. Leaning my head against the phone booth, I muttered what I had wanted to say into the phone.

"Bye Dad. I'm sorry."

Wiping my nose with the back of my sleeve, sniffing away my borderline tears, I reached down and grabbed my bag. As I slung it over my shoulder, I let my vision drift out the front windows, over the passing cars, watching as vehicles pulled up to the curb to drop off or picked up people from the station. I glanced over to the other side of the street, shops lined the sidewalk and people hurried by going to and fro, and I noticed a sleek, black car idling by the curb. It reminded me of my Uncle Jack's car – one of his many – slim, fast, expensive; dark tinted windows that allowed you to look out but nobody to look in unless their face was plastered to the window. And it was all those reasons for being an inconspicuous car that made it as obvious and horrific as a fat lady wearing a pink velvet track suit. Taking a few steps back, I kept my eyes on the car, but nobody came out, nor did the car leave. And I knew my best course of action – whether I was just over reacting about the car or not – was to remain in the crowds, blend myself in and allow myself the chance to run again.

I turned swiftly and immediately collided with a broad, solid chest. Strong arms enveloped me in a fierce hold. Soothing words met my ears before my instincts had the chance to take over and spur me to push my captor away. I looked up, immediately meeting a set of familiar chocolate brown eyes.

"Parker."

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_ This is just the beginning - as you can see - so leave your feedback and let us know if we've lost you or not. Yes, I know there was a serious lacking of Booth and Bones here but I promise - promise - they'll be in the next chapter. If any explaining is needed in the future let us know and Ashley and I will be glad to post what we can in our authors notes._

_Have a good night!_

_... Review for me and I'll review for you. Don't we all heart reviews?_


	2. Chapter Two

**Authors' Note: **Hola! First off we'd like to thank everyone for the lovely reviews. It seems to us that many of you are rather...confused. Good! We have you right where we want you. Stick with us! Just a heads up; from now on, keep a close eye on the dates. They're important. Also, we're taking a risk here with the way we're formatting - our scope is quite large (notice the difference in years between chapters), so we were forced to pick moments. Lately, we've discovered that it's rather difficult to tell a story in segments, but we think we've pulled it off quite nicely. _Bones _is built on moments, so we heartily believe that this was the only right way to tell our story. Please share your thoughts!

_I concur. Heartily. This story will appear to be jumpy and we've had many disputes over our arrangement and if it worked. Overall, I feel we've pulled it together in a way that showcases the moments that is the foundation of _Bones_ and this story exemplifies this. I wanted to thank our readers for their lovely reviews - I especially appreciated the one referring to our quality of writing. I completely, whole heartedly agree. Writing makes a story and poor grammatical errors will destroy anything. As for the longer one we received (names elude me at the moment, I'm terribly sorry - and I'm much to tired to save this and then look it up) I love how you jumped to conclusions. It made me feel giddy. But don't take that in a way that you were right... Oh, and as you'll see, this chapter is much longer. From this point on most of them are like this. I think there's about two other ones in total that are short - but still longer than Chapter 1._

**Chapter Title:** _Kiss Away the Difference_ is from the song _Where the Story Ends_ by The Fray. I heart them.

**Disclaimer:** _I own what I wrote and what I created. Ahem, what Ashley and I created (Oops)._ Bones_ and it's original characters belongs solely to Fox. Sadly._

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"The sharing of joy, whether physical, emotional,

psychic, or intellectual, forms a bridge between

the sharers which can be the basis for understanding

much of what is not shared between them, and

lessens the threat of their difference."

- _Audre Lorde_

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Chapter Two

**Kiss Away the Difference**

**Friday, June 26, 2009 – 7:36 PM**

Booth was waiting for her. Somewhere far in the back of her mind, the thought was running a continuous track, but she couldn't bring herself to actually acknowledge that it meant something. She seemed unable to access the part of her brain that linked her thoughts together and as a result her basic functions were unattainable**. **In this case, that she needed to physically leave the washroom to find her partner in order to make it so that he would no longer be waiting. It was a simple action. Motor skills were the ability to perform complex muscle and nerve acts to produce movement and hers, in the past at least, were quite fine-tuned. However, her logical, rational, knowledge-filing brain was – quite unreasonably – forced to accept that she was unable, for the timing being, to complete the simple task.

The stick in her hand was the most recent of many. The process she had just undergone was one she was familiar with. She had been avoiding this moment though, for fear that disappointment would plague her once more and, by extension, her partner, who tended to feel a measure of inadequacy as well. She hadn't admitted it aloud, but she had been beginning to feel it, too. It was irrational, of course. Artificial insemination had nowhere near a one hundred percent success rate. In fact, depending on the course of treatment, women only had a five to twenty-five percent chance of becoming pregnant with each menstrual cycle. It didn't mean that either she or Booth were in any way responsible for the lack of success. Usually though, artificial insemination was geared to those couples who had some level of infertility or at least had been having difficulties conceiving due to poor motility or some other minor deficiency. In their own case, tests had proven that they were not only healthy and above average in terms of fitness for people their age – a fact she had known already – but they were both actually prime candidates for conception. That is what frustrated her the most.

**May 27, 2009 – 9:12 PM**

The silence had been tense on the car ride back to her apartment and she knew it was her fault. She had treated him horribly all day and he had given up trying to gain the information as to why, by way of his considerable charm and interpretive skills, at least four hours ago. She saw, though, just how hard of a time he had holding himself back where she was concerned. She wasn't as naïve as she appeared. His hands had clutched the steering wheel in a steely grip and he took the many corners on the journey back to her apartment faster than he normally would. Clearly he was agitated at her lack of willingness to open up to him.

This was becoming something of a tradition – if it was possible for traditions to exist in a life as extreme as theirs. Whether it was at her apartment or his, they tended to unwind after a hectic day together. There had been no need for him to ask if his presence was still wanted, despite her foul mood. That was just a given. A completely unspoken, constant, immutable given. Acknowledgement of a fact such as this, even if it was only to herself, would normally have caused her a month's worth of sleep deprivation and her partner an unfair amount of unexplained resistance to his efforts. Now though, there was another source that gave birth to those results.

"Thai?" He murmured quietly. She turned to find him hovering in the kitchen's entranceway, holding his phone in one hand, the other stuffed into his pocket. His eyes were filled with caution. She could tell he was treading carefully. A firm acceptance was present in his features – albeit, an unhappy one. He knew her well enough to know that she'd come to him. Pushing only made things worse. The lines in his face were emphasized by the deep seeded worry that lay within them and the man looked so unsure of himself that it made her sick. Why was she incapable of making life easy for him? Why did she always give him such a hard time? She was cognizant of it – well, most of the time – and yet she did nothing to deter the all too frequent occurrences. She made him work so hard.

Of course he noticed the change in her immediately. The second she allowed her rigid body to relax into a painful sigh he was across the room and standing before her. He said nothing. He didn't even reach out to touch her. Instead, his eyes implored her to close the distance herself. To say the words that would bridge this gaping hole that lay between them.

She felt her solid façade crumble under his watchful gaze and a small part of her – certainly a great deal smaller than it used to be – was furious at this impossible leverage he seemed to have over her. "I'm sorry, Booth…" She sighed, bracing herself against the counter behind her. "I've been just…horrible to you all day, I can't-" She covered her eyes briefly, shaking her head in frustration as all words seemed to elude her. When he took a step closer to her, the heat from his body seeped off of him, cocooning her in a comforting warmth. She hadn't even realized that she was cold.

"Bones…" He whispered softly.

When she looked back up to him, she saw the answer dawn in his eyes. He knew.

"_Oh,_" he breathed. She watched as he mentally calculated the days. He had come to know her cycle just as well as she did. When it came right down to it, it seemed that he was able to barricade his instinctive prudishness in the interest of something that had become so important to them. They had been to more doctors and specialists in the past few weeks than either of them had been to in their entire lives. Booth attributed the promptness of these informative appointments to her status in the science world and her hefty pay checks. _Bones, you do realize that I just learned more about female anatomy than I ever wanted to know, right? _She wouldn't be surprised if he even had his calendar marked somewhere and had just forgotten to check what day it was. "Yesterday?" He asked softly.

"Yes."

As he sighed she watched the disappointment flicker in his eyes before it was overshadowed by concern. "Bones, this isn't your fault. We know that the procedure doesn't have a guaranteed success rate, okay? We knew what we were getting into."

She shook her head but said nothing. It was true – she _knew _it was true – and yet she still felt like she'd failed a test. She never failed.

"It hasn't even been a whole month since we decided that we wanted this. You're being impatient, Bones. These things take time."

He was right. She wasn't sure why it was such a shock to her – such a painful blow – that she hadn't become pregnant. Maybe it was because most of the things they did together seemed so effortless. Maybe it was just because they were both so used to accomplishing the most impossible of feats in what seemed like no time at all. Especially those they wanted so badly.

"We can try again, Bones. The doctors told us we could try again. They said that it usually takes multiple cycles for it to, you know, really get in there."

Despite her best efforts, she couldn't help but chuckle at Booth's terminology. "It's called fertilization, Booth."

He smiled and rolled his eyes, "Whatever, but we're sticking with this way. None of that interuterus crap."

"_Intrauterine. _And I don't understand why you have such an aversion to the idea. It has relatively the same success rate as intracervical, which obviously didn't worked for us, so -"

"We've only tried once! Patience, Bones. Patience," he sighed. "And plus, the doctor said that doing it the other way could cause you pain when, you know, they put my…stuff in you."

"Your semen," she corrected bluntly. "And Booth, I've explained several times – they say that the pain is rare and _should_ it occur it would feel like nothing more than menstrual cramps which, in case you've forgotten, I deal with quite regularly." He knew just how regular she was. They'd been tracking it like clockwork.

"And I've explained to _you _several times that I refuse to allow anything that comes from me to go into you and cause you any measure of pain, no matter how small." His expression was defiant. It had been the other times they'd mentioned it, too. It must have been a testimonial to how utterly – and irrationally – defeated she felt that she simply sighed again, too tired to argue any further.

"Well there's always in vitro," she suggested weakly.

"Bones, I thought that cost a fortune! Why can't we just stick to this a little longer?"

It must have been the near constant topic of discussion, but she'd been rather hormonal lately and she had to physically restrain herself from stomping her foot. "Because I'm impatient! It's not working -"

"We haven't given it time to work!"

"And besides, in vitro is not something I can't afford. It's only an average of twelve thousand per cycle so -"

"Whoa! Twelve thousand _per cycle_?"

"Booth, I can afford it!"

"I don't care if you can afford it, that's ridiculous!"

Anger surged through her. "Ridiculous? I thought you wanted to have a baby-"

"Don't go there, Bones. You know I do. You _know_ that," his voice was laden with such a powerful emotion that she was momentarily frozen, unable to fight back. Yes. He did want this. And she knew it too.

**May 12, 2009 – 11:35 AM**

A soft knock on the door pulled her out of a daze and she found herself back in the white, sterile environment of the hospital room, staring at the poster of a mother and her newborn baby. Her attention was immediately redirected to her partner, who hesitantly poked his head into the room and gave her an unsure smile.

"Hey," he called softly, as though there was an actual baby he was afraid to disturb. "Want some company?"

She blinked away the last remnants of her daydream – in which the mother in the poster had been her – and smiled. "Yes, please. This part is rather boring."

Slowly he walked to stand at the end of examination bed where she lay, her head propped up on a pillow, her body cloaked in a hospital gown.

"So, uh," he stuffed his hands into his pockets and rocked on his heels – a clear indicator of his nervousness. Who said she couldn't read people? "It's all in there, then?" He gestured awkwardly to her lower body.

She laughed. "Yes."

He exhaled loudly and shook his head as though marveling at a phenomenon he couldn't quite comprehend. "Wow," he murmured.

She watched him for a long moment. His eyes were glazed over as he stared in the general direction of her stomach. There was a very faint blush on his cheeks – one she had never seen on him before – and his lips were curved into a small smile. "Booth?" She called quietly, afraid to shatter this unexplainable, calming sensation that had fallen over the two of them, stealing them away from the wickedness they battled day after day. No murder, no evil, no pain. Just him and her and a life full of possibilities, of joyous solitude, of happiness.

When he looked to her, his eyes were shining and she wondered for a moment, if he was holding back tears. "Come sit with me," she told him, moving over on the table to give him room.

"Hey…careful," he chastised gently, moving to her quickly and helping her free of the stiff, crunching paper she lay upon.

"I'm fine, Booth."

"The doctors said that you couldn't move for at least thirty minutes," he told her sternly.

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, to prevent leakage. It's not like I'm standing up. How do you expect your semen to drip out-"

He grimaced and put her hands out to silence her. "Okay, okay. You win." He shuddered. "Just stop talking." Gently, he positioned himself on the table beside her so that he was perched by her waist. She watched transfixed as his gaze immediately found her stomach one more. Emotions flitted across his face so fast that she didn't have time to identify them and just when she was about to ask if he was okay, her breath was stolen from her as he gently placed his palm on her belly. A few moments ticked by as she did nothing but watch him, unable to string two coherent thoughts together.

"Do you think it's happened already?" he asked, eyes still on the place where his hand lay.

"I think it's too soon," she whispered back.

His nod of acknowledgement turned into a slow, awe-struck shake of his head. "Wow…"

She smiled, her voice laced with mirth. "You said that already."

When he looked up to her and laughed, she was struck dumb once more by the pure emotion that underlay the sound. "I know." He held her eyes for a long moment and the real world she thought they had left behind before was pushed further and further away until she was unable to recognize its silhouette in the distance. He swallowed thickly as his gaze wavered a fraction of an inch and she acknowledged these subtle shifts in his demeanor to mean that he was working himself up to say something important.

"Bones…we – I…" He sighed and his eyes flickered back to his hand on her stomach. "We've been treating all of this, this past week like it's been some appointment in our schedule and…" His eyes rose slowly to hers, "…I just want you to know, even though we don't really talk about it, that this isn't some goal I feel like I need to accomplish, it's…I'm happy, Bones. I'm _so_ happy we're doing this together."

As she watched him struggle with himself for a moment, trying his best to keep his emotions at bay, she wished she was better at expressing herself. A wide smile momentarily stole across his face. "This is still completely insane, just so you know."

As she laughed, her hand snaked across the bed and softly covered his. She knew.

**May 27, 2009 – 9:20 PM**

She blinked and furiously wiped the lone tear that had escaped in her moment of weakness. Unable to simply allow him to watch her with such an expression of utter failure, mixed in with sympathy and pain at her suffering, she pushed herself away from the counter, effectively moving him out of her way. "Maybe we should just forget about it for now," she told him coolly as she walked purposely across the kitchen to retrieve her phone from her purse. "What do you want me to order?"

When he didn't answer right away, she battled with herself before giving in and glancing over her shoulder to look at him. He was standing where she had been, leaning against the counter, his hands bracing him on either side. His eyes were pointed in her direction, but he seemed to be in a deep, conflicting state of contemplation. He appeared to not have heard her at all.

"Booth?" She called uncertainly.

In an instant his unfocused eyes zeroed in on her and this time she didn't doubt that she had his full attention. Though a number of feet separated them, she suddenly felt smothered and somewhere in the back of her mind a panic alarm was urging her to get as far away as possible. Her feet felt as though they were glued to the floor. A blush slowly crept its way up her neck and her entire body buzzed with fear as she felt herself accept that she was completely at his mercy.

"There's another way we could do this." The low tenor of his voice paired with the smoldering – and completely disconcerting – look in his eyes caused her pulse to take on a startling pace and she felt her cheeks deepen from salmon pink to coral.

She swallowed and channeled her false naivety. "Order food?"

He didn't even bother to roll his eyes or accuse her of purposely skirting the issue. Instead he simply shook his head and said, "No."

It's not like she hadn't thought of it before. In fact, it was the first idea that had entered her mind. Indeed, it was also the first motive Angela had seen fit to question: _You do know how this is supposed to work, right?_ However, it was like she had said. Booth was a traditionalist. Though, she'd admit that their current situation had far surpassed tradition. She had figured that he wouldn't be comfortable with taking that particular step in their relationship, so she had bypassed the idea altogether. The way he was looking at her now…

"Should we make an appointment?" The words passed her lips before she had time to think it through. Was this even what she wanted? Was she okay with it? Was he?

For the first time since their conversation had fallen here, he faltered. "What?"

"As we've already discussed, I'm currently menstruating. Obviously we cannot engage in sexual intercourse tonight," she paused, "Well we could, but it would be far more effective if I was ovulating and, of course, a lot less messy."

On the outside she wore a cool and collected suit of impenetrable amour. On the inside, she was nervous. Why was she going along with this? She had to sit and think this through rationally. There could be devastating ramifications on their partnership. They may never be able to look at each other the same way again. What if they couldn't keep it professional? What if it they strayed away from their goal? What if it occurred and then they forgot the purpose of the excursion? Would they allow it to happen more than once?

_No. We can keep it professional. A means to an end. We want a baby and this is a logical way to see that it happens._

"We don't need an appointment."

His voice grounded her back to reality. He probably didn't know that natural copulation had approximately the same success rate as in vitro fertilization. Maybe she should tell him.

"Why not?" She asked instead.

He shrugged. "It'll just happen."

This was utterly ridiculous. They had no better chance at becoming pregnant this way, than by any other means. Yes, they were both healthy and fertile. Perhaps it was a waste of time and money to invest in a procedure when they were perfectly capable…

"You're romanticizing," she told him bluntly. She was hiding behind her barrier and yet there was something about the look in his eyes that told her that he had never before seen her more clearly.

"I am?"

"There is no way to be certain that a natural segue to intercourse will simply materialize in the midst of our daily conversation." She was kidding herself. She knew it as well as he did. Here was just another example of how she unnecessarily made life harder on him.

A smirk crept across his face and a light danced in and out of his darkened eyes. "That is not something you need to worry about."

And just like that her steely façade crumbled to a dust and piled at her feet as a shiver worked its way up her spine.

**June 9, 2009 – 4:00 AM**

A piercing alarm sliced through her blissful slumber, pulling her by the scruff of her neck into a waking state of complete disorientation. A deep groan met her ears before her eyes even opened and she felt the bed shift beside her. Suddenly a blanket of heat washed over her and she was encompassed by the most enticing of smells. Cracking an eye open she was greeted by the sight of her partner's bare chest hovering over her, the weight of his fist digging into the mattress at her side dipping her body towards him, as he blindly reached over her and searched the nightstand for the correct button on the alarm clock.

When he finally silenced the wretched device, he collapsed down beside her with a sigh, his head falling to her pillow beside hers. "Mmm…sorry," he mumbled, pulling the blanket up higher around them both. He still hadn't opened his eyes.

"Why is your alarm set so early?" She muttered back to him, her eyes falling closed again.

"Mm…running. I've been running before work," he had inched closer to her, his lips ghosting the skin of her neck as he spoke.

In an instant she was wide awake and her mind was catapulted back to just hours ago when this all began. He had been right. It was late, they were talking, words were said, looks were given, gazes were held and suddenly she had known and so had he. Just as he said they would. They had met halfway, tentative at first, before all coherent thought disappeared in a blur of frenzied movements and discarded clothes; the sounds of the outside world faded in a harmony of pleasured moans and heated whispers. Somehow they'd made it to his bed, obviously, as that's where she found herself now. As she stared up at the ceiling she saw the events of last night playing before her.

He had slowed her down, whispered her given name in her ear and encouraged her to appreciate the moment. They were in no rush. Exact actions and moments were clouded in her memory by a blanket of haze. She remembered the heat and the sounds he had made, the words he had whispered. She had been having trouble keeping her eyes from falling shut against the onslaught of pure feeling, but she remembered clearly that the only times she had allowed her open gaze to leave his was to wonder to the space of pillow beside where her head lay. Coincidentally, it was the same spot where his head lay now.

Their hands had rested there, fingers interlocked in a tight grasp as though they had been honestly afraid to fall alone. For the first time they had embraced as lovers, but they had both been unable to break the connection that had led them there in the first place. A partnership, a friendship. They steadied each other, they kept each other strong. Together they were less afraid. Even now, as she flexed her empty hand under the covers and felt a tinge of discomfort as the muscles in her fingers protested the movement, she felt safe. A feeling, she knew without really knowing how, that she would not have experienced if that physical bond had been severed.

Letting her head fall lazily to the side, she faced him, their noses brushing. "Booth?"

He grunted in response and didn't answer. With a smirk she gave him one hard poke in the ribs before he groaned and muttered irritably, "What?" After a beat of silence he opened his eyes.

The intimacy floating between them was palpable and for a brief moment, lost in the memory resurfacing in his eyes, she forgot what she was about to say. Suddenly, she was awash with insecurity at the very notion that one look into this man's eyes could render her ever-coherent mind completely empty. Her hand sought his under the covers and found it sandwiched against her upper arm. The moment their fingers were safely entwined, she felt the panic seep out just as quickly as it surfaced.

What this meant, she wasn't quite ready to face.

She registered the worry in his eyes and was overwhelmed by the need to eliminate it completely. A small smile was all it took and she watched as relief coursed through him. He smiled lazily back.

"Do you think it worked?" She whispered.

His smiled widened and the corners of his eyes crinkled in answer. He bowed his head down to press a soft kiss to her shoulder. "It sure feels like it."

**June 26, 2009 – 7:45 PM**

The bang of the washroom door against the wall jarred her out of her memories and back to the stick in her hand. She was hidden from prying eyes in a private stall and until now, she had been alone and free to remain there as long as she pleased. She listened as the clicking heels of the new occupant past her and entered into the stall beside her. Sighing heavily, she moved from where she stood to discard the test into the sanitary bin and left the cubicle.

She watched herself in the mirror as she washed her hands, taking in the pallor of her skin and the blatant fear in her eyes. She turned away. As she dried her hands with a paper towel she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. Vaguely, she recalled the same sensation against her hip occurring more than once since she'd entered the washroom, but she had apparently been in too much of a daze to register its meaning.

The vibration ceased after a moment and she was grateful. As she pushed the door open and began making her way down the hall she pulled the phone from her pocket guiltily. Booth. Of course. Four times. Pocketing it as she entered the wide expanse of the Medico-Legal Lab, she felt her insides contract painfully. The blood in her veins suddenly felt as though it was replaced with liquid nitrogen – which, somewhere far in the back of her mind, the scientist argued was so far from the realm of possibility it was laughable – and she shivered at the same second that she registered a sheen of sweat had broken out across her forehead. Her footsteps felt simultaneously too loud and too soft at the same time, and her hammering heart seemed to beat right out of her chest. Emotion zapped through her like bolts of electricity, running a circuit round and round, until it zoomed straight into a familiar, handy compartment filled to the brim with ghosts, pain and confusion. The lid slammed shut.

She swiped her identification card, granting herself access onto the platform and donned a pair of gloves without really noticing at all. Just as she was about to begin to store the bones on her examination table away in their drawer for the night, every fiber in her body jerked visibly at the sound of his voice.

"Bones!" Booth boomed from across the lab. "Where the hell were you?"

Turning slowly, she blinked at him as he stomped furiously towards her. Oh right. He had called.

"I was in the washroom," she told him evenly. It was true.

He opened his mouth to retort as he came to a standstill before her, his body bristling with agitation. Instead though, he stopped himself and looked at her curiously. "For half an hour? You were in the washroom for half an hour?" His voice was less demanding than she had expected.

"Yes." She blinked again, her hands still suspended in mid-motion over the bones on her table. Never before in her life had she understood the term clueless better than she did in that moment. She could feel the hollow chamber inside her head where her brain used to be. Wait. That didn't make sense either. Was she supposed to say more words to him? The look on his face suggested so…

He hesitated again, shifting on his feet. "Well, are you sick?"

She shook her head, answering with a casual, "No." For a beat she hovered once more in that space where he looked at her for an explanation which she seemed unable to grant. He said nothing in response, so she simply turned back to her task and carefully began to move the bones into their container.

He hadn't moved from his position behind her, so she glanced over her shoulder. He was studying her through narrowed eyes and his arms hung limply at his sides. "Are you okay, Booth?" She asked, unable to discard the casual tone from her voice.

His probing expression instantly morphed into incredulity at her words. "Am I-" his words were cut off by his a short, desperate bout of laughter.

She blinked at him.

Shaking the astonishment out of his stance, his face contorted into a look of utter concern. He closed the distance between them until she physically had to tilt her head back to see his face. She frowned.

"What happened?" He asked, one hand coming to rest on her shoulder, his thumb stroking over the fabric of her shirt.

She blinked again. She used to have such an extensive vocabulary…

His concern visibly deepened. "Bones?" He reached up to grasp her other shoulder, actually giving her a tiny shake as though to pull her out of whatever world had consumed her.

Confused, she simply looked down at his hand on her shoulder and then back to his face. She felt her mouth open as if to speak, but then it closed again. Her body felt strangely wonton, like she was physically where she stood, but not really at the same time. Her brain was completely befuddled…he appeared to be rather worried.

"Listen to me," he enunciated each word slowly, his face was so close to hers they were nearly touching. "Do you need to lie down, Bones? Are you feeling sick?"

Pursing her lips, she thought about it, before shaking her head. "No. I don't think so."

The furrow in his eyebrows intensified and it made her feel uneasy. "Are we still going for dinner?" She asked him, outwardly appearing calmer than she actually felt. This was all rather disconcerting…

He gave her a bewildered look. "Are you kidding me?" Suddenly, his hands jumped into action, "Here…" he gently removed her gloves and tossed them onto the table with the bones.

Wait…she wasn't finished yet. And used gloves didn't go there…

"Come sit down over here," his arm snaked around her shoulder with infinite tenderness. "We're not going anywhere until you tell me what's wrong."

She allowed herself to take a few steps with him before the words strung together in coherency. Wrong. Certainly she was feeling a great number of things, but _wrong_ didn't seem an appropriate descriptor. She stopped.

"Bones…" He tried to urge her to continue walking.

"There's nothing wrong, Booth," she told him, feeling as though she was clearly stating the obvious. As he watched her, she felt a semblance of normalcy and intelligibility slowly seep back into her body. "Why can't we go for dinner?" She could tell by his expression that he was perplexed at the change in her. His eyes narrowed again and he reached out to touch her arm as though to keep her steady.

"You sure you're up for it?" He asked cautiously.

"Of course."

His eyes widened in confusion and he shook his head in disbelief. "Bones, you're really freaking me out, here."

Cocking her head to the side she asked, "Why?"

Groaning he said, "Never mind. Let's just get some alcohol into you. Maybe you'll pass out and wake up normal again." Grasping her forearm he began to guide her towards the stairs of the platform. "Come on…"

Wait. She stopped again, ignoring his noise of protest. "I can't go to the Founding Fathers."

"What? Why?"

And just like that the murky haze was drawn away like a curtain, pulled back to greet the morning sun and the reality of the day ahead. She suddenly felt like she'd received a powerful blow to her gut as that tiny compartment burst open to release its newest occupant. She heard herself emit a harsh sounding gasp of realization and immediately found Booth before her again, hands on either side of her.

"Bones!"

Tears sprung up in her field of vision and her heart hammered full-force once more. The overwhelming surge of emotions running amuck through her body were so unbelievably contrasting that she couldn't find a steady place to begin to try and understand what it meant. "_Booth…_" She whimpered and found herself suddenly scrambling to grasp a fistful of his shirt as though it was the only thing keeping her from floating away. She looked up into his eyes just in time to witness the smooth transition from confused despair to a tentative realization.

"Do you know what day it is?" She asked desperately.

He exhaled harshly and swallowed as she watched his mind calculate the days. "The twenty-ninth?" The question he was truly asking he didn't bother to vocalize.

Once more, the right words seemed to lie just beyond her reach. It didn't seem to matter though. Warmth immediately brightened his gaze and a smile stretched across his face as he slowly slid his hand down to lay his palm flat against her belly.

"Yeah?" He asked hesitantly.

She let out a humorless laugh, still unable to decide whether to scream in horror or collapse into a fit of sobs. Instead, she settled for a nod.

"Oh my God…" His face crumpled with emotion and all of a sudden his lips were pressed against her forehead, her cheek, her neck, and then he was gathering her into his arms and pulling her against him in a fierce embrace. "Oh my God, Bones…"

With her arms around his waist, she registered that he was trembling long before she was aware of her own shakiness. Her breaths were tremulous and she tried desperately to organize something, _anything_, into a singular, discernable feeling. It was impossible.

"Seeeee," he teased gently as he pulled back, "I told you we just had to be patient."

She laughed because it seemed like the right thing to do.

His wide grin sobered slightly as he seemed to take in the conflicting emotions wavering in and out of her expression. A soft, understanding smile took its place and, instead of attempting to reassure her, and without breaking her gaze, he simply placed his palm back against her belly.

Burning, piercing warmth shot out from the surface of his hand and seeped through the fabric of her shirt. Despite the obvious barriers, indeed that warmth went on, through the layers of skin and deep into the small, dark cavity of her lower abdomen touching, it seemed, the embryo that lay there, barely the size of a poppy seed. It was impossible, she knew, and somehow she felt it. _He_ made her feel it. There was no longer two, but three. And until this moment, she never knew such a powerful connection could exist, linking separate human beings together as though they were one.

Immediately she felt her thoughts untangle, align and organize. One coherent emotion conquered the rest; it outshone and overpowered. Words were suddenly attainable once more and though she couldn't bring herself to voice it aloud, one sentence of perfectly constructed words dominated her entire being.

_This is why she chose him._

She watched his eyes light up as he took in the joy she felt consume her entirely. This is exactly what she had wanted.

He laughed, a decidedly wonderful sound, and kissed her forehead again. "You're right, Bones. No Founding Father's for you," he teased, snaking his arm around her, his hand pausing briefly at its usually spot on the small of her back, before continuing on to wrap around her waist. "The diner will have to do for a while," he began guiding her off of the platform. "That's okay, though," he smiled cheekily, "because my baby really loves pie."

She threw her head back, laughing unabashedly. "She does, does she?"

"_She_?" He asked, his eyes crinkling with the extent of his smile.

"Oh…I mean _it,_" she corrected, as the door to the lab swished open at their approach, allowing them exit.

"Unh- uh, Bones. That was mother's intuition right there. _You _think it's going to be a girl."

Mother. It was a common word and yet in relation to her it felt strange. It was like the first day she had to wear her Jeffersonian lab coat; the arms were a little tight to move around in, as her job required, but it had been such an honour, so mostly it had just felt good. "Please, you know how utterly unreliable my 'gut' is, Booth."

He laughed again, "Touché, Bones."

They walked in a companionable silence, his arm still firmly planted around her waist. When she glanced down to watch the tips of his fingers gently stroke the side of her stomach, as though he was unable to help himself now that their child rested within, she felt another wave of contentment threaten to topple her over. To steady herself – at least that was her excuse – she slipped her arm between them and wrapped it around his waist. He regarded her with curious amusement as he let the arm he had around her slide up to rest at her shoulders to accommodate their new position.

"So," she began casually, allowing her head to fall against his, "What kind of pie does your baby like?"

She felt the chuckle he emitted rumble through his chest and knew without having to look that a goofy smile had taken up residence on his face. "What exactly are you suggesting, Bones? You don't like your fruit cooked, remember?"

"Hmm…" She murmured nonchalantly. "I guess I could make a few exceptions."

When he laughed again she couldn't help but abandon the ruse of indifference to join him. They were acting like children, lost to the world and almost drunk in their merriment. She had never felt such a bizarrely, perfect sensation. Without resisting in the slightest, she allowed herself to be pulled impossibly closer to him and sighed when his lips met the skin at her temple.

This joy that consumed them now – the one that stole them away from their pasts and ever-looming ghosts, from the reality of their daily lives, from the bones they left lying on the table behind them – was something, she swore, that she would never, ever let slip away.

* * *

_Confused? I was when I first read this. ... Don't tell Ashley._

_Take a moment, read it over and if you find yourself having a hard time PM or Review and we'll glad to answer anything. Except if your questions are not in line with this chapter. Then you'll just have to wait and see what happens. Obviously. Like Ashley said, the dates are important to keep in mind, but no other chapter (that I can recall) is set up as this one was so they're easier to follow. Or maybe it was just me that had a hard time originally piecing this chapter together..._

_Review and Booth is willing to take pictures in a photo booth with you. Get it? Booth... lame, I know. But I asked him and he said it was all right for now. The joke, that is._


	3. Chapter Three

**Authors' Note: **_I love this chapter. I read it once... about 20 or so weeks ago and just reading it over again now reminded me how much I love this chapter. And I hope you enjoy it as well! Just want to add a wonderful shout out to our awesomely brilliant reviewers - you make my heart pump with giddiness. And I'm pretty sure you make Ashley squeal every time._

It's true. It do squeal. A lot. Have fun with this chapter; it's one of my favourites. It draws back to an old beloved episode - hope everyone's brushed up on their Season 1 B&B!

**Chapter Title: **These lyrics are from one of my favourite songs at the moment: Breakable by Ingrid Michaelson. It's brilliant. You must download it. As for a slight, slight, slight spoiler into the next chapter...the title will be the next two lines of the song. Ha! Do you like how I did that? That basically tells you nothing...but some of you are on your way to look up the lyrics aren't you?

**Disclaimer: **We wish.

* * *

"The secret of joy in work is contained

in one word - excellence. To know how

to do something well is to enjoy it"

-Pearl S. Buck

* * *

Chapter Three

**Have You Ever Thought About What Protects Our Hearts?**

**Just a Cage of Rib Bones and Other Various Parts**

**Tuesday, September 29, 2009 – 10:57 PM **

Following a quick call to Cam earlier that evening, he'd sent the body straight from the site to the Jeffersonian. He'd barely had a chance to look at it himself for, it seemed, everyone required his presence at the exact same moment. Besides being needed at the scene, Cullen was absolutely livid about the month's worth of paperwork that had been piling up on Booth's desk and had demanded a meeting. Charlie, the poor guy, had the local PD breathing down his neck and he'd asked Booth to give him a hand. And to top it off, Bones' latest craving seemed unquenchable and he was pretty sure that together they'd bought out the city's supply of dill pickle chips.

All that he'd registered about the body before he ordered its recovery and shipment was that it was a meaty one – definitely one for Cam's table. The skin was charred and juices he didn't even want to identify were oozing out of him. The man looked barbequed – medium rare. With a shudder and a grotesque churn of his empty stomach, he came to the conclusion that he would not be finishing up the leftover steak from his partner's refrigerator that night.

On a whim, he threw his blinker on and pulled into the corner store next to Bones' apartment. It was late at night, but he'd still bet an arm and a leg that his partner hadn't eaten dinner yet. Despite his best efforts, she still refused to leave the lab at a decent hour – especially when she had a new body to play with. In fact, he suspected to find her door unlocked, her belongings tossed in a heap on the couch and soft music coming from her bathroom. Lately, she'd been unwinding after work with a long bubble bath – a girly habit that he teased her for only because she vehemently blamed it on her pregnancy. _The baby likes the lavender bath salts, Booth! _It was the most absurd argument that he'd ever heard from her – and, he'd admit, that was saying something. He'd made the mistake a month or so back of pointing out that she was particularly cranky and topped it off by suggesting that maybe she should consider _those salty, smelly, relaxing baths of hers_ every night so she wasn't such a pain in the ass in the morning.

The woman nearly burst into tears. Apparently, those pregnancy hormones are strong stuff. Even a person as tough as Temperance Brennan could find herself completely and totally at their mercy. It was both hysterical and terrifying.

Since then, she made those baths a priority. Wake up, go to work, stay far too long, come home and soak in the tub. Eating came if she had time. Of course, Booth had been extremely annoying on the subject. Hell, he'd even begun to annoy himself. But Bones was carrying his child and he'd be damned if he sat by and allowed her to forget to eat a meal – because that's what she did, she would honestly forget. The woman had too much concentration for her own good. And their baby's.

He smiled at the thought.

As he entered the convenience store, he threw a smile at the reaction of the teenager working behind the counter.

"You're lucky," she said with a chuckle. "We just got a new order in."

"Whew. That's good," he quipped as he grabbed as many bags of chips as he could carry. "You don't wanna know what would happen if I went home without these."

As he paid, he promised to bring Bones in next time he came. The two of them really had become the store's best customers the past two weeks or so and the girl was anxious to see if his partner's belly had grown. Booth had been adamantly trying to convince Bones that they'd found a perfect babysitter before the baby was even born, but she was already too protective to even consider leaving their child with another human being. He'd have to work on her.

The store was so close to her apartment that he pulled into her parking lot barely fifteen seconds later. He was annoyed – but not all that surprised – to find her parking spot empty. Groaning, he pulled back out and sped off in the direction of the Jeffersonian.

The sky overhead was a sea of darkness; the sparkling lights across the city were truly a sight to see, though nothing compared to the shimmering speckles that were supposed to bring light to the darkness. A couple of months ago – back when it was easier to convince Bones to leave work before the sun set – they'd had a conversation about stars. You forget, she had said, just how beautiful things can be when you don't have the time to look at them. He remembered looking at her after she said it – he _really _looked at her – and found that he understood completely.

He was sure that this rebellion, this constant need to defy everything he said – namely, that the extra weight to her body and the added life to her care would cause her energy to wane significantly and that for her own sake, and their baby's, she needed to leave work at a decent hour – was to prove to herself, and everybody else, that she was exactly the same person that she was before. She didn't _want_ people to look at her differently. Perhaps he couldn't blame her. She prided herself on being strong and independent and she wouldn't allow anyone to treat her otherwise.

The day he'd tried to use the parking spot reserved for expecting mothers at the grocery store, he was almost convinced that she'd never forgive him. She made him park in the furthest possible spot to prove that she was_ as capable as walking as you are, Booth! _The thing was, they weren't even going grocery shopping. They were there to question a suspect.

He shook his head as though to shake the very memory from his mind. She was worrying him. Extremely. He spent the nights when he should be resting to build up energy to deal with her, tossing and turning and thinking and plotting. She didn't seem to understand. He wondered sometimes, if maybe she thought that _he_ looked at her differently now than he did before, or rather, he worried that she noticed just how different a look it was.

It was true. She was a whole different person to him now. But then again, she was exactly the same. Maybe that's why she was being so difficult. She had a hard time accepting any contradictory elements to solid facts and steady, unchanging truths. The fact – the solid, steady, unchanging fact – was that that people are full of contradictions, they are _made_ of contradictions. Temperance Brennan herself was the prime example. Cold but warm, hard but soft, brilliant but clueless, brave but afraid.

Brain, but far more heart that she would ever, ever realize.

That's what they were. Together. That's what they'd always been. A contradiction. They didn't fit and yet they did. They drove each other crazy and yet were never calmer than when they were together. They were subtle, but obvious. They fought, but they loved. They loved, but they didn't. They felt, but they couldn't.

Except now they had.

That was what was wrong. He was sure of it. Not the baby growing inside of her, but who they had become – would become or could become or _wanted_ to become. It was complicated. It was terrifying. It was like trying to walk over a partially melted lake in the middle of March – ninety-nine times out of a hundred everything shattered and you fell right through.

But that one time, you took all the right steps. You calculated and measured. You watched and you waited. You were patient. You walked lightly and made the leap over gaps that looked like they just might swallow you whole. The journey took so much longer than you could have ever imagined. If only the ice had been solid, then maybe you could have gotten there sooner. Would you then, have appreciated the land as much when you reached it? Would you have known – _really_ known – how important it was for you to get there if the path before you had been paved? Would that one success make up for the pile up of failures under your belt? If you did it right, one time out of a hundred, would you even remember that you failed at all?

He hadn't known, but he had. Another contradiction. For so long, he hadn't even realized just what it was he had been fighting for. He was too focused on the careful steps he was taking. Calculating the best direction, estimating the distance, establishing the exact moment to initiate movement. He'd been watching his feet for so long that he'd forgotten to look up.

Except now he had.

And, oh what he had seen.

Maybe she didn't see all these little details like he did. Maybe she wasn't experiencing the same _to be or not to be_ complex that echoed through his ears and beat through his chest every time she was near. Maybe that night was nothing more to her than a means of conception. Maybe he was going completely insane. Maybe he was fighting a losing battle. Maybe he had already fallen through the ice.

But then again, maybe not.

Either way, whatever she was thinking – whatever she was feeling – she needed to deal with or bury in the interest of their child. The fact was this was bigger than the two of them now. So much bigger. She was an amazing, strong, unstoppable woman, but she needed to slow down, no matter what it would do to her pride. Or what it would make her confront.

He decided to park outside instead of maneuvering his large SUV through the parking garage. The scenery was better, anyway. As he walked through the gardens to the front steps of the museum, he looked overhead and was greeted by the happy twinkling of thousands upon thousands of bright, glowing stars. This was the only place so close to the heart of the city where he was ever able to see them so clearly. It seemed appropriate somehow. This place made him step back and see, truly _see,_ the beauty of the world he so often found clouded and obscured. Here he had a front row seat to the brutality of life and he couldn't possibly continue on day after day without that clear, vivid image of the good stuff. The stuff he was fighting for.

She, in so many ways, was just like that. She pushed and prodded. She forced him to think and to question. She made him see even those things – _especially _those things – that he forgot to look for. Consequentially, he did the same for her. Together, they were the perfect balance. Now though, everything felt out of whack.

Physically, she was carrying most of the weight. Emotionally, he was carrying all of it. While it was true that she made him park his vehicle in absurd locations and cried when he called her a pain in the ass, it was feelings about _them _that he granted her the free ticket to bypass. Their unborn baby was so much a part of them now – even barely into the second trimester – that he could barely remember how they existed before. They used to carry their own weight. If one of them faltered, the other would step in. To compensate, the one who faltered would step right back and carry the part the other had abandoned. Now, there was an extra part thrown into the mix and he, Booth, was falling.

The thing was though, he didn't care. All his efforts were focused on catching her.

When he entered the lab, he felt the tense atmosphere floating down from the murmur of voices atop of the platform. He was surprised to find that not only did his partner remain at this ungodly hour, but the rest of the team did as well. They were all huddled tightly around the examination table but, through the cracks he was able to discern that the body he had sent was not lying upon it. In fact, it was clean and empty. It was only then that he realized that they were all out of their lab coats as well.

"What are you guys doing? Having a party?" He snapped as he swiped his card and climbed onto the platform. "It's almost midnight – go home and sleep like normal human beings."

"Booth! Why weren't you answering your phone?" Bones asked, annoyance clearly coating her features.

"Uh…" Whipping his phone out of his pocket, he saw that he had five missed called. "Sorry. It was on silent." Must have been like that since his meeting with Cullen.

"Why was it on silent?"

"You know what?" He crossed his arms defiantly, "I think a better question is what the hell are you still doing here? Have you even eaten yet? Do you-"

Bones rolled her eyes and heaved a tremendous sigh. "Booth, I don't want to do this right now. Look -"

"You know what, Bones? I really don't care what you want right now -"

"Booth-"

"No, listen! I know you don't want to be a different person – I'm not asking you to be a different person. I'm asking you to look after yourself. You need to eat _meals_, Bones. You need to sleep. You can't stand on your feet all day-" He barreled on, despite their amused audience.

"Booth, would you just -"

"No, Bones. I know you think you're invincible but the fact is-"

She threw her head back and groaned in frustration. "Will you just _listen to me_?!" Her bellow echoed through the lab. Everyone jumped but him. He was a Ranger; fully alert, still, silent and in control – even after all these years – but that didn't mean that, on the inside, he hadn't reacted violently to the sound. He was sure that she'd never spoken to him like that before.

A second ticked by while everyone held a collective breath, before the wild, angry expression she directed at him softened into the wide-eyed little girl look she wore when she was lost and confused. And hurting.

"Booth – I'm…" She shook her head and sighed. "We IDed the body."

For a long moment, he simply stared at her. Immediately, her mask had been clipped carefully back into place, but he was still able to see. She couldn't be that upset with him, could she? No… that wasn't it. Eventually, her words came together in his mind. The body he'd sent…

"Well, who is it?" He asked quietly, cautiously.

Angela turned a nearby monitor in his direction. A familiar face stared back at him. He felt his stomach clench.

"Roberto Ortez," he murmured as his mind was propelled back to his vague memory of the body. He saw it now: traces of a bushy moustache, the faint lines of a tattoo below his left eye, the bulky build, the slicked back hair…

His partner's voice wafted softly to his ears, "The gang leader of -"

"Mara Muerte. I know."

_I'm not the leader of the whole gang. Just the DC chapter._

"It's odd, don't you think?" Angela began, "I mean I haven't heard anything about anyone in this gang since our last case involving them. That was what? Almost four years ago?"

Booth's jaw clenched.

"Yeah, you'd think the most feared gang in the city would make the front page a little more often," Hodgins added as his fingers flew across the keyboard as he shut down the systems. Apparently they had been waiting here just for him, and now that he knew, it was okay to head home for the night.

"Yeah, well. We can leave this 'til tomorrow, huh?" He clapped his hands together. "Come Bones, I'll give you a ride home."

"It is strange…" Bones ignored his outstretched arm that beckoned her closer. It took everything Booth had in him not to stare her down, study her, and figure out what she was thinking. Instead, he shifted his weight.

He felt Cam's gaze the moment she turned it on him. Cautiously, he looked her way and he knew in an instant. She knew that he knew. She knew that there was a reason the gang hadn't come a-calling. And she was pretty sure that reason was him.

"Yeah," Angela continued dryly. "Especially considering you beat the guy to the ground."

Cam's surprise registered on her face. "You did?" She asked Brennan, her eyebrows raised.

Bones nodded nonchalantly. "He deserved it."

Angela made a sound of disapproval and Hodgins chuckled. Cam let a whoosh of air pass through her lips. "Whoa," she said. "That takes some guts."

When the pathologist looked back to him, her gaze was coated with understanding. He blinked.

_Mara Muerte has put a hit out on your lady scientist._

He ran a hand roughly across his face. "Okay, listen guys. We can talk about this tomorrow. Bones, come," he approached her and turned her by the shoulders. "Home. Food. Sleep." As he guided her surprisingly accepting form down the stairs he prompted, "Say goodnight."

_Are you crazy? This is my neighborhood._

"Goodnight, everyone," she called as she shrugged his hands off her shoulders.

They all responded in kind, making their way to their respective offices to retrieve their belongings. Booth raised a hand in farewell.

_You put a hit out on my partner?_

"Seriously, Bones," he told her softly as he leaned against the doorframe to her office and watched as she shrugged on her jacket. "I know you were waiting for me this time, but you really, really have to slow down."

He watched closely as her shoulders sagged and she turned to him with a small smile of amusement. His heart leapt in his chest.

"Okay, Booth," she whispered.

_She's not FBI._

He continued to watch her as she sorted through the contents of her bag, deciding what to leave and what to take home. His head felt heavy, so he leaned it against the door jam, and crossed his arms over his chest. Against his will, he found his eyes falling closed.

_I never said anything about FBI. She's my partner, _ese.

A sigh from her brought him back to her office. He opened his eyes just in time to watch her heave her bag over her shoulder and reach across her desk to place a pen in a cup holder. As she did so, his gaze was immediately stolen to the inches of skin revealed across her stomach as her shirt rode up, ever so slightly. He smiled fondly at the barely discernable bump – he wouldn't have known it was there himself if she hadn't pointed it out to him a few days before. A new, piercing wave of protectiveness washed over him – a feeling that was as new as it was old.

She tucked her hair behind her ear as she turned to make her way to the door, before stopping in her tracks at the smile on his face. She returned it, allowing her head to fall gently to one side. "What?"

_And if anything happens to her, I will find you and I will kill you._

He shrugged lightly, "Nothing."

She responded by rolling her eyes and shaking her head, before she passed right by him, leaving him to close her office door.

_I won't think twice._

When he caught up with her quick pace, he threw his arm around her shoulders. "Sooooo, guess what I got you," he said in a sing-song voice, presenting her with a wide grin.

"What?" She looked at him, unfazed. Of course.

"Mmm…." He mused for a moment. "Guess."

She sighed, irritated. "I don't guess, Booth."

"Huh. Then I _guess _you'll never know." He only smiled wider when her eyes narrowed.

She turned away, choosing to say nothing, but he knew what was going on in that brilliant mind of hers. Conflicting elements raged as she tried to decide which she hated more – giving in or not knowing. Her silence remained as they slowly made their way down the steps of the museum and through the gardens to his parked car. She was remaining on neutral ground. A smart fighter, his Bones.

To her disapproval, he opened her door as they approached the vehicle and as he walked around to his side, he observed her reaction to the bags of chips sitting on the console between the seats. By the time he threw the car in drive, she already had one open and was digging in.

"Are you worried about this case?" She asked between mouthfuls a few minutes later.

_Come here. Look in my eyes. Look at my face._

"Nah," he said, sounding far less affected than he actually was. "I can deal with them."

_If anything happens to her, I will kill you._

Again, they were quiet – the silence only filled by the crinkle of the bag and the sound of the chips crunching between her teeth.

They would be okay. Everything was fine. There wasn't a thing to worry about.

_Where were you?_

"Booth?" Her voice shattered the quiet just as they pull into the parking lot of her apartment complex.

_I had something to do._

"Yeah?"

She didn't answer until he had put the car in park and turned to her expectantly.

_More important than a funeral?_

"Thanks."

She didn't specify, but she didn't have to.

"Meh. No worries, Bones," he smiled. "S'what I'm here for."

She returned his smile. "Don't worry about coming up. Go home and get some sleep. I promise I'll make myself something to eat."

He didn't want to go home. He didn't care about sleeping.

"'Kay," he murmured. "'Night, Bones."

Another small smile and she was gone.

He watched her walk away, disappearing into her building. He watched her window for what seemed like an eternity, waiting – his heart pounding with each passing second. Her light flicked on.

_I thought so at the time._

This case could hit them from all directions. It could pierce, it could burn, it could smother. But it didn't matter, because he knew this time. He _knew_.

He would not pause. He would not falter.

If anything happened to her, he wouldn't think twice.

* * *

_*Sob* Did you love it as much as I do? And I can say this without sounding vain because Ashley wrote this one out, not me. So I'm whole heartedly loving her work. _

I'll be vain! I love this chapter A LOT.

_Reviews are the foundation to joy, so spread and create the joy. Click the button. Even a "Hi!" makes us a proud._


	4. Chapter Four

**Authors' Note: **Hello all. Once again, thank you to our lovely, lovely reviewers for being so wonderful. Another angsty chapter - might as well get used to it. We're on the angst train...destination? HORROR! (Glee reference! Please tell me someone got that?) Okay, seriously though. There will be some brief stops on the journey to the glorious land of fluff and love and goo and all that beautiful stuff. Worry not, faithful followers! We wouldn't leave you without at least that, would we?

_Glorious land of fluff and love and goo. Can romance be described any other way? No, no I think not. Another chapter, another week... and I will say that the next chapter is much longer. Other than that, Ashley said most of it - I think._

**Chapter Title:** Ingrid Michaelson, _Breakable - _just like I promised. Have you listened to it yet?

**Disclaimer: **We checked our belongings this morning. Still no _Bones_.

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"The greatest obstacle to connecting with our joy is resentment."

- _Pema Chodron_

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Chapter Four

**So it's Fairly Simple to Cut Right Through the Mess**

**And to Stop the Muscle that Makes us Confess**

**October 15, 2009 – 6:47 PM**

Mara Muerte. The most feared gang in the city of Washington DC.

Roberto Ortez, its leader. Dead.

Cause: A bullet to the skull. And a lot of other disgusting stuff.

Samuel Ramos: Second in command. Apparently, nonexistent.

Useful information to go on: None.

Angrily, Booth flipped the file closed with a smack and tossed the whole thing across his office. The papers began to fly even before the folder reached its destination – hitting the filing cabinet and sliding down to the floor. He rubbed a hand roughly over his face, ignoring the curious looks his fellow agents gave him as they passed by the glass walls of the office.

It had been over two weeks since they'd identified the body of Roberto Ortez and Booth's patience was wearing thin. The neighbourhood residents of Mara Muerte's most frequented streets were as tight-lipped as they were nearly four years ago when he was fishing for similar information. Their silence was worsened to an immense degree especially considering what most of them had witnessed a couple of days ago. Now he had no hope of gaining their trust.

It had been the worst kind of déjà vu. They entered Little Salvador in the hopes of locating Mariana Pelaez – Ortez's girlfriend. Unfortunately, it was the only smidgeon of information they had been able to salvage from anyone. They had stepped out of the car, stood side by side bickering as they waited to cross the road and suddenly, they were under fire.

Without a thought, he found himself pushing his body against hers, turning her in midair so that when they hit the pavement together, she fell on her back with her belly up – him on top, covering the two of them as he scrambled to retrieve his weapon from its holster.

He hadn't been aiming to kill. He had seen the silhouette of the figure through the windows of the black car that passed.

He always hit what he aimed at.

He never missed.

That was the only thing that made a spark of doubt light up within him. It made him wonder that maybe, just maybe he had hit exactly what he had aimed for.

A chill ran through him as he looked into her eyes when he pulled himself off of her, after the round was fired. Fear, relief and worry filled her wide, blue eyes and he felt himself fall away from the world that continued on around him. Police were swarming the scene, bystanders had begun to gather, bodies now littered the small street, he heard the faint siren of the paramedics on their way – but the two of them didn't exist alongside the chaos. They were somewhere all on their own.

"You okay?" He pushed her hair out of her face and gently helped her into a sitting position.

Her hand found her belly and she rubbed it cautiously a few times. "I think so," she whispered.

Relief coursed through him as he nodded and exhaled harshly. "Come on," he murmured and he pulled her to her feet. As he walked her around to her side of the car, his gaze found the officer making his way towards him and another checking for a pulse on the man he had just killed. Paramedics were moving in on the handful of dead and dying around him…

Even from a distance he saw the Mara Muerte tattoo on the back of his victim's neck. The fancy 'M' was a canvas for the blood that trickled down. He pulled his eyes away.

It had shaken him to realize just how true his words had been. _I won't think twice._

Groaning again at the unbidden memory, he clamped his eyes shut and pressed the palms of his hands against them in a vain attempt to ward off a headache that had already surfaced. The soft knock at his door was unwelcome, so when he snapped his head up to glare at the visitor he was immediately filled with guilt at the sympathetic gaze that met his. He softened. She was always welcome.

Her sapphire eyes regarded him with understanding, before shifting to take in the mess of papers strewn across his office floor. Thankfully, she didn't comment, instead she moved to the chair that sat opposite him with an awkward grace so perfectly her that it felt like a caress, a hug – some act of comfort to him after such a painfully frustrating day. He kept that thought to himself.

"Hey," he finally said after a few more seconds ticked by in a comfortable silence.

"Hey," she returned softly.

"How are two of my most favourite people this evening?" He smiled when he saw her hand unconsciously come to rest on her belly before answering.

"We're fine, Booth." Annoyance coated her tone, but she still treated him with a small smile in response.

He didn't argue. He knew better than that. So instead, he took a silent inventory of the paleness across her face and the dark circles that rested beneath her eyes. He watched closely, taking in the way her lids remained closed for a fraction of a second longer than was normal when she blinked, indicating a fatigue of which she'd never admit. His partner, once again, despite his best efforts, his pleas, was continuing to run herself into the ground. His _pregnant_ partner.

"We've finally identified the gang member you killed," she told him, her blunt manner causing him to wince. "I figured you'd prefer to know in person, which is why I am here when I could have easily called."

He was going to question why it mattered how he found out – either way he had still taken a life without a second thought. A part of him though, recognized her actions as a reaching out on her part. An act of kindness, of thoughtfulness. Proof that she cared. And he always took whatever she offered.

"Who was it?"

"His name was Juan Ramos," her voice was somehow both tentative and direct, in a way only she could pull off.

He felt his gaze darken.

"He was Samuel Ramos' brother," she answered his silent question.

Instantly Booth felt the small amount of energy he still had seep out of him by way of a heavy sigh. "Son of a bitch," he muttered, rubbing a hand over his eyes.

Samuel Ramos was sitting in the seat of prime suspect at the moment, though his whereabouts still remained elusive. When they had finally located Mariana Pelaez, she had only talked in exchange for protection. The only useful bit of information she was able to give was that Ramos had been pressuring Ortez to broaden the gang's influence. While it was true that chapters of Mara Muerte existed throughout the country, it seemed that Ramos' thirst for power wasn't so easily quenchable. In addition, he had a less than stellar record with the Bureau already, including drug abuse, unauthorized weaponry and even a few sexual assault charges – all of which had fallen flat due to lack in evidence. It seemed like he'd been skirting the edges of the law for years. Booth couldn't wait to nab him.

They sat silently for a long time, not needing to voice aloud the ramifications they both recognized these unplanned turned of events would cause them. If the members of Mara Muerte were anything, it was fiercely loyal to one another. While it was true that Ortez himself had been content to order – and maybe even participate in – the beating of Jose Vargas a few years back, it was only because he recognized Vargas' disloyalty to him. Booth had known the second he'd recognized the tattoo of the man he had killed, that there would be consequences. Now that he knew it was not only a member of the gang family, but an actual biological relation to Ramos…well, he didn't know what to expect. He just knew that it wouldn't be pretty.

"Maybe…" Brennan began hesitantly, "maybe this will finally bring Ramos out in the open."

"Yeah," Booth agreed vaguely, now invested in a worry that suddenly plagued his entire being. His gaze fell to his partner's growing belly, rested there for a long moment, and then lifted to take in the perfect angles of her face. There was just so much more to lose now…

"Bones," he blurted, startling himself as well as her, and standing abruptly, "let me drive you home. It's late and you look like you could use some rest."

Her brow furrowed in irritation as he came to stand before her. "It's only seven o'clock, Booth."

"Yeah," his voice was sharp, "and you look like hell."

It wasn't like it was the first time he'd said that to her, but there had always been a casual cadence to his voice, a softness. It seemed like she recognized the difference, the almost accusatory element to his words.

"Excuse me?" Her voice was as close to shrill as he'd ever heard it.

Just as it always did, the quickly building worry kicked his protectiveness into hyper overdrive and his emotional dial turned swiftly to anger, knowing it would be the most effective. "You heard me," he retorted, "How many times have I begged you to look after yourself? When was the last time you've have a good night sleep? Do you even want this baby, Bones? Because at the rate you're going – "

Her horrified expression cut him off sharply and shame flooded through him at an alarming rate. "Bones…God, that's not what I - "

He watched as fury swept through and effectively took over her entire being. She stood with a purpose and took the few short steps towards him, bringing them nose to nose. What she said surprised him. "It's funny," she began, a predatory gleam in her eye that was very different than the kind he had embarrassingly started to imagine her wearing, as he thought about her, alone in his bed at night. It was more of an interrogation type of gleam. If he wasn't so unnerved, he may have been proud.

"What is?"

"That every single time we start to really talk about this case – and I don't mean the facts or the theories or the general information – but more about what it all means, you immediately change the subject."

He swallowed. She was far too close to him. He could smell her shampoo…lavender and vanilla. Not a typical combination… He fought the urge to step back.

"Bones," he said softly, "I'm worried about you. It has nothing to do with this case."

She cocked her head to the side and studied him for a moment, a small smirk on her face. "Unfortunately for you, you're a very good teacher."

"And why is that unfortunate?" He threw back.

"Because I know that you're lying."

Her words resonated in the silence for a long moment. He couldn't tell her. But he had to. Conflicting elements raged through him as he battled with the side of him that desperately wanted to divulge the only real secret he'd kept from the one person he entrusted with everything and the other, weaker side that was terrified of losing that person in the wake of revelation.

Would she really be that angry? Would she actually hold it against him? Would she feel betrayed? He wasn't sure about the first two, but the last was a resounding affirmative. There was too large a pile up of disappointments in his partner's past for her to be reasonable in this situation. But then again, the way she was looking at him now suggested that she considered his holding back in this moment to be the most significant of betrayals.

She was going to kill him.

He sighed. "Bones…It's not that this case isn't as important to me as it is to you."

She blinked in response.

"It's…" he held his breath, wondering briefly if he should suggest that she sit, before deciding that she may just karate chop him in response. "Roberto Ortez put a hit out on you." There. Like ripping off a band-aid.

Her expression remained carefully in a mask of detachment. She blinked again.

"Four years ago. He put a hit out on you and I…well I tracked him down. I stuck my gun down his throat and threatened him."

"You threatened him," she repeated without emotion.

"Yes," he answered, wishing for once to have her insane ability to take the feeling out of a situation. He was dying here and she was looking right through him.

"With what?" Her tone held an air of chill now and he knew what was coming.

"I said I'd kill him if anything happened to you," he knew, if anything, she'd eventually come to appreciate the directness he executed in his confession. Someday maybe.

Again she blinked.

"Listen, I just didn't want – I was scared, Temperance," he noticed that his use of her given name made her focus sharpen, "I just – and seeing his body and being neck deep in all this…_shit_ again just rehashed the memory, okay?"

Another moment ticked by painfully without a response.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you, I was just trying to - "

"Protect me," she finished, emotion now seeping back into her features. Except it wasn't the anger he had expected.

"Yeah," he finished quietly, unable to tear his gaze away from the hurt that filled her eyes, and he hated himself.

God knows how much people trying to protect her had destroyed her in the past.

"Bones…" he reached out to touch her arm, but she cringed away from the contact. It would have been less of a blow if she'd merely stepped away, but no, she actually _cringed._

"I'm going home," she told him, avoiding his eyes. And with that, she simply turned and walked out of his office, stepping over the contents of their case file on her way.

Again he ran a hand roughly over his face, groaning in frustration. Swiftly he turned, picking up the mug that held his pens from his desk and whipping it across the room. The glass shattered as it slammed into the wall and his various writing instruments fell to join the mess on the floor.

It would have been so much better if she had yelled.

~*~

She didn't go home like she said she would. Instead, she found herself at the lab, now empty and dark in the wake of the setting sun. She wasn't really sure how she felt. Hurt, yes. And surprised. The only thought that she could clearly distinguish was one that had crept up immediately following his confession. She didn't want to be near him.

There was anger, too. Fury, actually. Now she would expect this kind of behavior from him. After all, she was carrying his child. And that aside, they were so much closer now than they had been then. It was true that he had always been needlessly protective, even when they barely knew each other, but she had no idea that he'd go to these extremes. How many times did she have to tell him that she was perfectly capable of looking after herself? She was a strong, independent woman and there was nothing she loathed more than not being treated as such. Like some sort of damsel in distress.

There was a very small part of her that broke through the shock of this revelation and was somewhat touched that he had cared so much, even then. At the time she had often wondered if Booth even liked her at all, or if she was simply a colleague that he had to put up with in the interest of his career. Still however, her anger and hurt was overpowering her sentiment at the moment.

Just as she was donning her lab coat, she became aware of her painfully full bladder. Her thoughts had been otherwise occupied. Sighing, she removed the coat again and grumbled as she made her way to the bathroom, cursing the tribulations that came with pregnancy. She had gone not a half hour ago.

What she found not a minute later made her heart stop in her chest. Booth's words came flooding back to her – _Do you even want this baby, Bones?_ She did. Despite her actions, despite her solid, unchangeable work ethic, she wanted this baby more than…

Dark spots coated the fabric of her underwear. Hesitantly, she touched them with her finger in an utterly ridiculous attempt to avoid logic and prove that all that really happened was that she sat on a red marker and somehow didn't notice. It was a vain attempt; she had known that before she'd done it. There was no mistaking it now though…she knew the texture of blood too well.

Tugging her pants back up, completely forgetting about her need to actually use the bathroom, she rushed back to her office to retrieve her phone, her heart pounding in time to her echoing footsteps. Her immediate thought was to call Booth, no questions asked.

_Do you even want this baby, Bones?_

She called her doctor instead.

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Oooooooh. Review?

_Well that end has my pants all in a knot. And I've read it over too many times to count. Either way it still gets to you. What will happen? *in cheesy romance drama flick voice* Will Brennan lose the child? How will Booth react? What is in future for our favourite crime solving partners? Stay tuned and find out._

Brennan's childs life depends on your reviews! Keep in mind, the next chapter isn't written... not enough reviews and you never know. I mean, we could hit the wrong button and say death instead of life. I'm just joking. The next chapter is totally written. But we still need your help to save the unborn life of Booth and Brennan!


	5. Chapter Five

**Authors' Note: **Hello everyone! I'm just going to come out and say it - SAD number of reviews for the last chapter. If you're reading could you pretty please send us a quick message just to let us know? It would make our fangirl hearts sing and spark some much needed confidence to finish writing our later chapters. Also, I personally adore this chapter - it's Amanda's fine work - and it'll catapult you around a bit more, but alas, that is our objective. Pay attention to the dates. And get ready to be better acquainted with a young lady very near and dear to our hearts. Enjoy!

_I'm in agreement with Ashley. Where are the reviews? Even a quick "Great work!" makes our hearts soar like a feather on the midsummer's wind. Literally. I have a feather in my back pocket for times like those. And it ain't flying. As you can see, this chapter is quite long, and I feel rather... at odd ends with this chapter. It's mine and while I love it I also dislike it. A lot takes place in, and that is what I feel is off putting for me. But, it needed to be done. I'm just being picky. Hey, has anybody noticed the lovely quotes posted at the beginning of each chapter? That is the fine work of Miss Ashley. AND they're all joy related. Huh... isn't that a wonder?_

**Chapter Title: **_Black Wave_ by **The Shins**. This song pretty much works for the entire mood of the chapter. Just put it on repeat.

**Disclaimer: **We do not own _Bones_. Though we definitely wish we did. Also, we're terribly young and therefore know very little about pregnancy and its affects, potential problems, etc. So, we could very well be making stuff up. Our passion/skills for research is also quite limited. Just thought you should know.

_Terribly young? I'm wounded by that accusation, for I am older than you. ... But I do see what you mean. Yes, we're still babies when it comes to this world. We daily sing "These are a few of my favourite things" from The Sound of Music. We even made our own version of it. I should post that. Booth is in it. I mean, why wouldn't he be? What do you say? Post it or not as a little surprise? Now... where is that song..._

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"Without joy in your life you are powerless."

- _JOYCE MEYERS_

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Chapter Five

**Looking On the Brighter Side**

**Tuesday, October 21, 2025 – 5:31 AM**

The road ahead of us seemed endless. There were no twists or turns, no corners to take. Just a straight path, the heavy foliage on the roadside acting as blinders to our vision. Time had passed, just like our path; straight, severed to the point where I could feel it weathering us down. It had only been five years. Five years of this road and I knew we would remain on this road for another several. The quiet hum of the engine filled my ears like a roar, and I leaned my forehead heavily against the passenger window, eyes unseeing as I passed the blur of dark greens and greys, a mixture of hues that only illustrated my inner feelings on the matter of this road, of this time. I sighed softly, it was the only thing I could control at the moment, wholly, and it made me feel a spark of pride – that I could control the one substance that others were ruled by: their emotions. I was rational. I was solid and secure. Everything I did, I did with a purpose and meaning.

Shifting my weight, I glanced up at the review mirror, taking in the empty road behind us. It had always been lonely, just the two of us, our road in front of us bearing no standards of what to expect, and the road of the past lay behind us, shrouded in mist, cloudy and indiscernible. I imagine if _she_ had been here with us, if _she_ had been a part of our past, the grays and dark pastels of our world would be lightened considerably.

It wouldn't matter where we were going, there would be no importance on the how or when or why.

We would be whole, three strings tied as one, with no care of the immediate danger or impending verdict of our actions. The only matter of importance would be that my father would smile a little bit more, his famous grin dominating the space we sat in and she would lighten the air we breathed, easing our thoughts, her determination and focused nature being a constant source of comfort and _home_.

"Almost there." My father's low voice broke through my dark thoughts and I glanced up at him. Collapsing back into my seat I tucked my long legs beneath me, a practice that was now done with ease – compared to the clumsiness of movement of any sort that I did in the past – having grown into the length of my body. Now I was just dealing with the arrival of the soft curves I found deepening each day. Rolling my shoulders, I grimaced as I felt my breasts rub uncomfortably against my bra. Most girls my age were nearly fully developed, sporting their filled C cup bras at school. As for me, even though I had curves, they had only recently started... adapting to my height. My breasts had seemingly awakened and decided to up their measly size from an A to a C and my hips had broadened centimetre by centimetre in the past few weeks.

Noticing my grimace, but misinterpreting it, my dad reached over and squeezed my knee. "How are you holding up, Nat?"

"Better than most average fifteen year olds."

I crossed my arms and set my gaze determinedly out the front windshield. "It's not that bad." Dad spoke up, rubbing his eyes and jaw, as if to wake himself up. Whether he was tired or his actions were meant to wake him from the nightmare we called our lives, I wasn't sure, but I knew how he felt at that moment.

"I know dad, I know." Compassion was the only thing I could offer at the moment. Full understanding and my own reasoning of logic kept me from acting out as teens my age normally would do, so allowing the umpteenth sigh to manage its way up my oesophagus was the only way I make my silent displeasure known. It was all about control.

"We're almost there," Dad repeated. And it was true. I could see the distance skyscrapers on the muggy horizon, taking shape and defining into sharp points. Another life, but the same road, the same time; we were starting over yet creating nothing new.

~*~

The back of our SUV was filled with our personal luggage, and any valuable belongings that we didn't trust with the movers. Truthfully, there weren't many things that my father and I owned that could be considered "valuable." So for the most part, our vehicle was empty. Except for the tiny vault that lay in the back, locked and kept within our possession. My father didn't trust anyone with the vault, barely even me.

Opening the back latch of the car, I heaved my own suitcase out, and then my dad's, rolling them behind me as I made my way into our new house. Dodging the movers, I carried the luggage up the winding staircase. The house was beautiful – they all were – and it smelt of fresh wood pine, a crispness that could only be captured in new homes. Despite the fact that we were technically on the run, thus concluding the common course of action would be to lay low with cheap motels and home schooling, my father ensured that wherever we may be, we lived in a proper home and I attended a proper school. _It's what they least expect_, dad would say.

Logistically speaking it made sense, but I guess what hurt seeing our upscale homes and prestigious schools was that _they_ was behind it. Helping out, hidden behind the curtains, sending support through wired transactions. And while it should have been soothing to know they thought of us daily – as we did of them – it only added to the burn that _she_ wasn't here.

It was over within the next two hours. We had become efficient enough at this that the moving stage only took a matter of minutes compared to the hours it took to unpack and turn this house into a home. I stood by the front door, observing the wooden floors, the pale walls, our sparse furniture filling parts of the rooms.

I felt my dad's presence behind me, the vault tucked under his arm.

"Nat, baby, you know we had to do this." I kept my emotions in check, doing a quick scan to make sure I didn't become the one to create an outburst. Just like in the car, I repeated my staged answers.

"I know."

Dad nudged my shoulder and looked up to see a bit of his old self sparking in his eyes. And that fact alone made me feel more at home at the moment than I had in years. "You have your own bathroom here." He teased.

"Good!" I let the rare laugh escape me. It felt good. Shutting the door, I followed my dad into the kitchen, feeling myself losing the weight of my thoughts.

"Pizza? Or do you want Chinese tonight?" Dad asked, setting our vault in the counter. He turned to me, cell in hand, grabbing his laptop from his bag. "I'll look for a restaurant to call."

"Greek sound fine to you?" I asked. Hearing Dad's groan fill the kitchen I grinned as I unpacked our loose groceries, bare essentials consisting of milk and butter and bread.

"We had Greek last time, Natalie."

"You asked, Dad."

I spent the next several hours into the night slowly arranging my room, pushing boxes to the places where I would unpack and arrange them. My bed had already been placed, and I was now digging for the box that contained my sheets.

"Have you seen my bedding, Dad?" I called out. The house had a slight echo to, something I hoped to rectify within the week. "And Pan, I can't find Pan."

The wooden stairs would have alerted me to the thumps of somebody making their way to the second level of the house. Noise would have been conducted, raising my vigilance that someone was making their way towards me. But my father was a completely different matter of human. His presence was made known by the calmness I felt cover me, and I would have jumped out of my skin if I had not been used to his silent ways. _It's always best to be prepared_, he told me. _You can't escape from somebody if you walk like an elephant._ He had been training me since I was ten, but I had yet to perfect the skill of making the least amount of noise possible – I blamed my clumsiness on long limbs.

"I'm positive I had the movers take all of your boxes to your room." Briefly scanning my room, Dad made his way, checking the hall for the boxes that lined the wall. "Here it is."

Together we tore the box open, shaking the sheets out, each of us grasping our ends tightly. In unity we shook the sheet into the air, letting it glide back down to the floor.

"_Higher, Uncle Jack!" The little girl had screamed years ago. Her parents had been called out, temporarily setting foot into the field. She had wound up in her Uncle Jack's "office," what he called his Zone of Experiments, and both Uncle Jack and Aunt Angela had left their work, grabbing a white sheet and shaking it above her._

_She had run below it, twisting, craning her neck as she watched it flutter and whip. It created noise like the wind yet it glowed like a white sky on a sunny day. Laughter had rung throughout the room, squeals tearing through the little's girls lips._

_When nobody was looking the child would wander throughout the offices of the lab, studying the artifacts lining the walls. Whether it was her Aunt Angela's paintings or scrapbooks laying on her coffee table, or hammers and knifes and various kinds of fruit sitting on her Uncle Jack's counters, she would gaze at them, hesitantly reaching out and ghosting soft touches over them with her fingers, tracing the patterns and grids. Her favourite room was the one she had been raised in, the plush carpet, the soft couch; history lined the shelves, skulls, photos, historical prizes. It was the room she would sit in for hours, doing nothing but gazing and learning, reading and knowing, defining and determining. _

The sheets had been tucked in and I fell to my bed, exhausted from the long day's events as well as memories of the swelling past. Digging Pan out of my luggage, my dad sat him on my pillows, before reaching over and kissing my forehead.

"Sleep well, Natalie. I love you."

I watched him walk out of the room, flicking my bedroom light off, leaving only my lamp on. "Night Daddy," I called out softly. "I love you, too.

~*~

**Tuesday, October 28, 2025 - 10:13 AM**

The large hallways of East High seemed to hold the threat that they could consume me. They were large and airy, not a blemish on them, no unwanted speck of dirt marking the walls. Yet the vast emptiness of them, the silence they emitted glared down at me as I trudged through them. I was repeating this stage over again, and while some of my classes were beneficial, keeping me sharp or actually teaching me something for once, nothing new was happening. It was a repeat performance. A permanent frown had been cast on my face, my lips tight. I didn't want to be here. I was already ahead of my grade, and I knew I could easily bump myself up another. The month's end was rolling to a close within the next week, and I had argued to the best of my ability, finally resorting to begging, asking Dad not to enroll me until the end of the month.

"_You need to go to school, Natalie."_

"_Hardly," I scoffed. "Those public schools are beyond mundane. I finish the work before it is even assigned, Dad. I spend my time doing nothing. It's a waste of my time."_

"_I don't want you getting behind by taking time off." Dad's argument was weak and we both knew it._

"_Two weeks, Dad. It's nearly the end of the month, I'll sign up then."_

"_..." I nearly had him._

"_You don't have a job yet." Dad's eyes flickered away from my piercing gaze, and I knew it was time to lay my ace card. "We could spend the time together." I lowered my voice, knowing it was a low blow of me to do so, "We hardly ever have time together. I miss being with you. I don't... there's nobody... I don't like being alone."_

"_You're not alone, Baby." Dad straightened out, his dark eyes boring into mine, strengthening his words with his eyes. _

"_In this life, Dad, I can't be who I am. I'm just asking that I have some time to be me." I was almost at the finish line, and we both knew it._

I failed. Despite my best efforts, I had lost the battle_. But the war is mine_, I thought, clenching my teeth at the sight of the black lockers lining the pale walls. The white tiles glared up at me and I scuffed my shoe roughly against the floor, hoping the loud squeak emitted was a sign that I had caused some damage.

Shouldering my bag, I clenched my class schedules tightly in my fist. I had arrived early, already having been assigned to my classes and locker the day before, but the office attendants had insisted I wait for a brief overview with the school principle, Mr. Walsh Richard-Josh. He had been cruelly given a last name for a first name and two first names for a last. Mr. Richard-Josh was the well known principal of Madison, and was commonly known as Mr. R.J by colleagues and students. While I found the man's IQ to be a tad unsatisfactory for running a faculty containing over a thousand students, the man had a sharp mind for morals and an outgoing spirit that reflected well on East High. If I had not been subjected to over an hour of Mr. R.J's rambling, I would have most likely held him in the high regard that the other board members viewed him with. The school board had been informed of my intelligence, and the fact that I was a grade ahead of others my age only added to the attention from teachers that I didn't want or need.

Mr. Richard-Josh had commended me, welcoming me to East High with hopes that I would be a great asset to the school. While he was a kind man, trying to make me feel as if East High could become a home to me, I couldn't help but feel overwhelmed with boredom at his imbecile attempts at sucking up. My dislike for him grew after I saw the clocks hour hand near the ten, signalling that the first class of the day was well underway. My objective was to blend in, it was key to my performance to be nothing but a wall flower.

_A brilliant wall flower._

Being late – late seemed too weak a word – for my first class on my first day at my new school hardly qualified as wall flower material.

Taking the stairs by two, I made my way down the North Hall, my eyes scanning for Room 309. My first class was English, a class I actually enjoyed, and it was nearly over. Grasping the door handle, I made to just walk in, before realizing I should probably knock first. Raising my fist, I felt my courage drain me. A very small part of me pointed out that this was my chance to leave and spend my days doing something other than be bored to death – not literally – and my dad would never have to know. _Until the school called_, my rational side stated followed by a sharp, mental roll of the eyes.

"Get a grip, Natalie Booth." I murmured. _Portman,_ the rational side whispered. I repeated it to myself before making my presence known to the class. _Portman, Portman, Portman._

_I am Natalie Joy Portman_. And with that, I knocked on the door. I had situated myself so that anybody inside of the class would not be able to see me through the glass of the door, but I could see the teacher make his way to the door, a frown on his face at being interrupted.

Opening the door, he looked surprised to see me. "Yes?" He asked.

"Natalie Portman," I said, repeating my lines that I had memorized from the years. "Transfer student from Rochester."

"Ah! Miss Portman. I thought you wouldn't be attending today, seeing how you weren't here for roll call."

"Mr. R.J. held me back. I'm sorry." I added as afterthought.

"No trouble, my dear. No trouble at all." Leading the way into the class, the teacher waved me in, showcasing me to the fellow classmates as if it were show and tell. "We have a new student joining us today, Natalie Portman," I heard the whispers creep throughout the bodies and I suppressed a moan. _Whoever decided from the FBI to put Natalie and Portman together_...I seethed, _I can't _wait_ to meet them. _"Miss Portman, welcome to English 11 – home to intuitive minds and a haven for safe thoughts."

He was poetic – in a sense – and I could see how he could easily become an enjoyable teacher. He seemed sound of mind – compared to some other wing nuts I had crossed in my years of switching schools. _I could like you_, I thought.

"Why don't you tell us a little about yourself, Miss Portman?" And there came the dislike. I was still standing at the front of the class, wanting nothing more than to just sit down and shift into the background. I cast a pointed glance at my English teacher, and I was delighted to see him squirm. "We have time for that later. You're seat is – uh – right down there. By the window, behind Mr. Vance."

"Thank you," I nodded my head curtly, making my way to the far side of the class. A window seat was the best. There I could allow myself to leave the living hell I was sitting in and spend an hour in mental solitude. I wished that schools offered choices of seating like airplanes did. Would you like a window or aisle seat?

"By the way," the teacher called out, "I'm Mr. McEwan." I already knew that. His name was written on my schedule, as was every other teacher that I had. I subtly sighed before dropping into my seat.

I was given instruction to pay attention but to not follow along with any assigned work for the day. A writer's passage on the essay of Arthur Schopenhauer was handed to the class, a handful of his quotes distributed from which we were to pick one and analyze it. I barely contained my gleeful grin. It looked like I would have at least one class this year that would pose some sort of challenge.

Climbing down from my secret euphoria, I pulled my current book out of my bag with a shake of my head. Settling into my chair, I furthered my knowledge on the varying degrees of the criminal law system, burying myself in the psychology, crime solving genre. It was a light read which held interesting facts and kept my mind busy. More importantly, it kept my mind from wandering to thoughts that I did my best to keep separate from my everyday life.

The sharp ring of the bell snapped me out of my novel, and slowly packing my book away, I waited in my seat for the class to empty.

"Side reading?" A voice asked beside me. Glancing over, I saw the girl next to me leaning in her seat, her leg under her, packing her bag in a jumbled manner. Her pale blonde hair, cut to her shoulders, shimmered under the sunlight from the window. She was slender, soft and sweet. Her grey eyes were piercing though, and I found myself surprised at her sharp stare. I wasn't sure if I could label it as intelligence, but I realized she was one of the few people who had a perceptive nature.

She reminded me of my Aunt Angela.

"Something to keep me busy." I answered coolly. She nodded her head in agreement.

"Wait until Mr. McEwan assigns you the work for this class. It may take you a while to finish your book then." She wasn't unkind – far from it – but rather straightforward. I really missed Aunt Angela at that moment.

"Perhaps." I was being unreasonable with the cold attitude, but I was beyond caring. Soon I would be gone, just like with the other schools.

"Perhaps." She repeated. Swinging out of her chair, she shouldered her bag. "I'll see you around." Without another word she made her way towards the door of the class, before joining the hoards of students.

"Miss Portman?" I made my way to Mr. McEwan. He was holding a stack of paper work, held together by a large paper clip. "Seeing as how it is the end of October, you have missed quite a load of work. I'll be giving you all of the assignments to look over, but I've marked the ones that I would like you to complete and hand in. If you could have those finished by the end of November, Christmas break latest, that would be fine."

I weighed the papers in my hand, nodding my head at Mr. McEwan's orders. "If you don't mind, my dear, did you plan to come to school this late, or is that just how it worked out?"

"_If I go to school at the beginning of the year I will probably die from boredom, dad."_

"_Literally?" He was teasing me._

"_Dad." I snapped. "Seriously. Can we just take our time with this move? We always rush. I don't need to be at my new school right away."_

_Dad groaned, rubbing the back of his neck before setting his sight on me. "Fine. We'll extend our move. But when we arrive in Madison, you enrol right away."_

"_Deal."_

I tried breaking that the minute we had arrived here, begging for the two weeks off, wanting to wait until the beginning of November to enrol. Unfortunately, my father was a man of his word, and I had given him my compliance on immediate enrolment, dooming myself to subjected torture of everyday school life.

"The house didn't sell until the middle of September." It was a lie, but that was all that was needed. "We packed and moved as fast as we could, but it still took time." Like we needed to worry about selling our house; details like that were left to the FBI to handle.

"Ah, well, you can't speed up house selling. That's its own special art." I nodded my head, but kept silent otherwise. "If you need any help, my dear, just come and see me. I want to ensure that you don't fall too far behind. But that shouldn't be too much of a problem, I hear you're only fifteen. There's potential there."

"Thank you, Mr. McEwan." With that I made my way to the door.

"Remember, my dear, if you need any help just come and see me!" _Like I'll need it_, I scoffed. I was lucky enough that I had managed to convince my father to move two months later than the intended date. I was now holding nearly two months of school work –and would soon be accumulating three other classes' assignments – and I figured how long that should occupy my time. _This will be keep me busy until Christmas_, I thought with a sigh. That was the best I could wish for.

Walking into the hall, I headed down towards the west wing, on the upper level, looking for locker 1802. Cracking my combination, I slipped my books inside, arranging my studies and grabbing the next set of text books. _Science_. Well, at least it wasn't Math.

~*~

**Monday, November 3, 2025 - 12:55 PM**

I had been attending East High for nearly a week and I was glad to say that I was managing my time well enough that, at the moment, I had a strong excuse to dismiss any friendly inquiries due to my overload of class work. I was currently enrolled in English, Science, Math and Social Psychology . I had enough homework piled on me that any average student would have collapsed in misery. For me, this was a welcoming challenge, a diversion to have a plausible reason to set myself apart from school activities and remain uninvolved. Until the second semester, that is.

I spent my spare time during classes working on my assignments, choosing a quiet corner in the airy library to separate myself from the daily on goings of normal student life. English and General Science hardly posed a challenge to me. In fact, they were just tedious with the amount of writing and solving becoming a huge time consumer. Psychology was hardly a legal course in my opinion, but it was a chance to pass the time and _wing_ it as Dad would put it. Plus, I secretly hoped that Uncle Sweets would have been proud of my elective choice - if he'd been given the opportunity to know, that is.

Shifting my weight to my right foot, I leaned heavily on the cold railings of the school stands facing the open track field. A light breeze passed over me, whisking wisps of my hair around my face, tickling my forehead and chin. I clasped my hands together, doing my best to divert my attention from the group of students playing a loose game of soccer on the school field. I traced the line of my hands with my eyes, following the dips and curves and shadows of my tightly clasped fingers, trying to convince myself that the study of my hands was the most important thing in the world at the moment.

Tensing my knuckles, I watched as the tendons of my extensor digitorum muscle pushed against my skin, straining and showing where the metacarpal bones lay.

_Tendons,_ I recited silently to myself, _as well as ligaments and joints have the sole function to generate and transfer force so that individual or whole body members can be manipulated in three-dimensional space._

"You shouldn't clench your hands so hard; you may get arthritis when you're older." Startled, I looked up and over my shoulder to see the female student from my English standing behind me. Seeing that I had acknowledged her presence, she moved forward and leaned on the bars as I was. "Are you watching them?"

Seeing my slight frown, she pointed to the small group of people kicking the ball around. "It's nice to have such nice weather like this in November. We'll take every chance we get – you'll probably see them playing more often if the sun stays out for the next while."

I didn't answer; rather, I followed her pointed finger and resumed watching the soccer ball fly across the field.

"You should join them."

"I don't play." I said in a matter-of-fact voice. She snorted, pushing her blonde hair out of her eyes, blinking at my lie and the slight breeze.

"Nonsense. I saw you the other day. During lunch?" She wanted me to carry on, to explain to her why I had been kicking a soccer ball around the field, for once looking like I had been enjoying myself after arriving at East High.

_This study is known as biomechanics_, I thought. _And I don't owe you anything_, I added on as a silent afterthought to the blonde girl. Ignoring her question, silence fell between us, somewhat awkward, but I told myself I didn't care.

"I'm Samantha." She finally said, reaching a hand out to me.

"Natalie." I answered as I shook her hand. "And it's an unproved theory that _cracking_ your knuckles will lead to arthritis when you're older. So it's reasonable to conclude that just _clenching_ your hands tightly will not result in stiff joints."

Samantha laughed aloud, her grey eyes crinkling with laugh lines. Wiping her imaginary tears away, she shook her head. "You're avoiding the topic of discussion here. You like soccer, don't you?"

I could have lied. I was good enough – not as good as Dad – but I could have just easily pushed her away at that moment, knowing it was futile to try and prevent the inevitable. But for the first time, I gave into the always present feeling of wanting to honestly open up to someone. I may not be telling her who I was, but just telling Samantha that I loved soccer would be enough for now.

"Love it, actually." I confirmed.

"You should try out." I was shaking my head before Samantha had even finished her sentence.

"I'm much too... busy, to try out for soccer." I said. I saw Samantha frown out of the corner of my eye, her eyes narrowing; fortunately she didn't carry on with her suggestions. Movement caught my vision from over Samantha's head, and I glanced over to see a tall, lean figure jogging to the soccer group. Cries faintly filled the air as the group put their game on pause, waving the male figure over with enthusiasm.

"Landon Hughes." Samantha sighed. "He's so, so..."

"Arrogant." I finished.

"I was going for dreamy." Samantha said, raising an eyebrow and looking at me. "Do you know him?"

"I met him once." I answered with a shrug.

"Once?" Samantha sounded sceptical. "You got arrogant from one encounter?"

Remaining silent, I pursed my lips as I watched Landon Hughes enter the group, laughing and immediately taking charge of the ball. The game resumed, but with much more enthusiasm than before. His chestnut hair swayed in the air, musing itself up from his running and dodging with the soccer ball. Despite his attractive physical features – which I had ordered myself that I would not feel any sort of attraction to – I couldn't help but grit my teeth watching him, run around on the soccer field.

(THE OTHER DAY)

Grabbing my Math textbook and binder out of my locker, I frowned at the only course that was able to put a wall in front of me. Weighing the solid book in my hand, I momentarily considered throwing it out the nearest window, playing with the pleasing thoughts of watching the textbook burn in fire or hearing the rip of the pages being torn out. Instead, shaking the thoughts out of mind, I tucked my binder under my math book and hugged the heavy texts close to my chest. Leaning against my locker, I turned to face the student bodies ambling through the halls. My Math class was in the East hall, nearly on the other side of the school. Making my way through roughly two thousand students would take some time, and I had only five minutes until the bell rang.

"Jesus, Hughes." A loud voice carried down from the lockers across the hall. I looked over to see two males standing close together, the one having recently spoken stood tall, his shoulders pulled back, and a smug smirk on his face. I recognized him to be Matthew Vance, the boy I sat behind in English. The other - who I recognized but couldn't place - was slouching, his head hanging to the side, jaw clenched. "This is some nice shit you have here. When did you try out?"

Seeing others were casting looks, the boy straightened his figure out, unravelling his tall length and glaring at Matthew Vance. "Keep it down, you ass." Snatching a white folder out of his friend's hands, I watched him tuck the envelope into his pocket. He lowered his voice. "Look, nobody knows about this."

"Nobody?" Matthew repeated. I sensed there was meaning behind the word nobody, in which a certain somebody didn't know nor need to know.

"I was given the letter through the office." Falling heavily against his locker, eyes hard, he sighed. "I didn't even try out."

"That's a good sign, man. Seriously, if coach sent that to you... You want this. You always have." Matthew's encouragement was met with silence. "Landon..." Matthew sighed, his shoulders slouching to meet Landon's posture.

_Landon_, I thought, finally putting the name to his face. I knew I recognized him – he was in my English and Science – but I had never learned his name, nor actually met him.

"I'm going for football, Matt." I heard the finality in Landon's voice and I felt an unexpected surge of sympathy run through me. I didn't know him or what his circumstances were, but it was the hidden, disappointed sigh drifting out in his words that sparked my sudden compassion. I knew, without a doubt, that I could relate to Landon's feeling of finality and despair.

Lost in my own personal train of thought, I didn't realize that Landon had stopped talking and was looking straight at me. Blinking myself out of my stupor, I realized that lost in my own thoughts I had left my eyes staring in Landon's direction – a habit of mine that unnerved others. He had tilted his head to the side, and I concluded from the look in his eyes that he was searching my own. I felt the slight blush taint my cheeks upon realization that he had caught me eavesdropping and staring, and mortification filled me as well as a deep, irrational anger.

_You don't know me,_ I seethed. My blush turned from embarrassment to anger. _Stop searching me, you won't find anything here. _With that I turned on my heel and made my way to my math class, silently conveying my irritation with Landon Hughes.

As I knew it would, Math hadn't gone well. Feeling frustrated and disgusted with my recent lack of control over my temper, I spent my lunch on the field, weathering out the cool wind and blowing leaves. The sun was warm, but the cold North wind blowing in had caused my fingers to numb and my cheeks to flush. Borrowing a soccer ball from the gym, I now kicked the ball about the field, venting my anger in a one person game.

"You have quite the kick."

I stopped, pulling up quickly and catching the rolling ball under my foot. Roughly ten feet away stood Landon Hughes, hands tucked in his jacket pockets, the neck pulled up to cover his face from the wind. I had left my hair untied and the long strands fluttered in my vision, only increasing my irrational frustration.

"Do you need a goalie?"

Smartly pushing the strands of hair out of my eyes, I narrowed my eyes at Landon in suspicion. "No. I'm fine."

"I'm not offering you help on your technique." I stiffened at his words. Noticing this, he hurried on. "No, no! You look great – I mean your soccer skills are perfect. I just thought you would like a goalie. You know, a little bit of help?"

"I don't need help with my soccer, thank you." I snapped. "I need help with math." Landon fell quiet, his eyes searching mine for a moment – like he had done earlier – and I jerked my gaze away to look anywhere but at him. Math was always something my mother had coached me through. I was too impatient in a classroom setting if I didn't grasp a concept right away. I wasn't used to having to try.

"No. No you don't need help on soccer," He started out slowly. "So math, huh? Let me guess, you have Mrs. Harris, right?" My eyes flickered to him, then away, but that was the confirmation he needed.

Clearing my throat, I slowly started to pass the ball between my feet, clenching and unclenching my fingers in hopes of returning some warmth to them.

"I can do that. I can help with your math." My breath stopped short and I froze looking over at him. Why was he showing an interest in me?

"Why?"

"Because I can." Landon drawled, smoothly giving me his answer. I was surprised at the sudden rush I felt run through me. This was the first time somebody was actually extending a hand out to me and it was my reaction that was catching me off guard. Landon – for some unknown reason – was reaching out to me... and I wanted to reach back. I didn't understand his angle, what he wanted from this and the dawning thought slowly made its way into my muddled brain.

"_You're allowed to have friends, Baby."_ That's what dad had told me years ago and that's what he had reminded me ever since.

"_Friends, but no relationships."_ I had stated. Relationships – whether it was a close, best friend or boyfriend – that was too close for comfort. I could have friends only if I constantly lied to them, if I only let them know the fake Natalie from the fraudulent ID's. Only if I didn't grow close to them in return.

Dad had hesitated before giving me a shaky kiss on my forehead, murmuring against my skin, _"Friends, but no relationships."_

The thought infuriated me. Here was somebody – for the first time – offering a hand to me. And here I was – for the first time – wanting to react to that person. Looking at Landon, I knew that I could have been his _friend_. But that was denied to me and that alone was the cause for the fury ripping through me. So I did the one thing I could do. I lashed out and pushed him away.

"You're offering me help?" I sneered. "Maybe you should focus on yourself first."

Landon's confident posture faltered and I watched his own frown cross his face, before his eyes narrowed to match my own. "From what I heard it looks like you have your own problems to deal with before you can consider offering help."

"I don't know what you're talking about." His voice was cold, his body tensing.

"Football, seriously?" I mocked. "Let me guess, a relative? And you don't have the spine to stand up?"

"It's not polite to eavesdrop." He snarled.

"It's hard to not listen when you discuss your own personal matters in front of the student body." I retaliated. "Just take it from me; you should take the time to focus on yourself before offering your own weak advice."

Landon glared at me for several moments, his entire body locked and rigid. I held his gaze with equal fervour until I blinked and looked away, casting my sight on the ground. I didn't hear him leave, but I knew he was gone.

Blinking away a lone tear, I angrily scuffed the grass with my foot. I had been cruel, beyond rude, but it had been for the best. I had pushed Landon away for his own safety. And while my words had been cutting, it was the only way I was able to tell Landon that he had the chance to direct his own life. I understood what it was like to have the pressure to be someone you're not. Unlike Landon, I had no alternative, no chance to try and explore and deviate.

~*~

I had pushed Landon away and I was about to do it again.

"I met him the other day." I informed Samantha. "He offered to help with my math work."

"And you said no?!" Samantha cried, and look akin to horror washing over her features.

"Why would I say yes?" I asked coolly. I turned my body away from Samantha, angling myself so she wouldn't see the guilt wash over my face. Realizing I was shutting her off, Samantha pulled back.

"You should try out for soccer." She repeated softly. Then, just like Landon had the other day, she was gone. My shoulders slumped and I hung my head in shame. Biting my lip, almost painfully, I raised my head to see Landon, across the field, staring at me. His gaze was cool, his lips pulled in a smug smirk. I held his gaze.

Slowly, so subtle that I wouldn't have noticed if I hadn't held such direct eye contact with him, his smug look melted until he was looking passively at me. A small, lopsided grin graced his lips. And I returned it with a small grin of my own. A blink later and the moment was gone. He was moving again, other bodies blocking him from my direct line of vision and all I could see was his light chestnut hair shining in the warm afternoon sun.

I didn't realize it at the time, but this was the slow awakening of me. This road, the time, this move would be unlike the ones before in many ways, and for the first time in my life I would gain absolute control of myself and others. I would mould the dark scenery with my own hands, and shift it into my own wanting visions. But in this moment, at this time, I would only see and focus on the despair of my path, unaware of the smallest shifts of detail which signified the happening change.

Indeed, the road ahead of me seemed endless.

* * *

**A/N: **Didn't you love her?

_... Love who? Me or Natalie? I'd like to think it is me... I mean, I created Natalie. :) _

_Okay, so reading this chapter you may see how Natalie sounded so... immature and moody despite her seeing herself as rational. Now, obviously, there is a reason for this. Besides, she's only fifteen. Give her a break. And one last thing..._

_WARNING! The next chapter may be off schedule. It's still in the works (and it's driving me crazy) so please have patience. You won't be waiting a month - or anything crazy like that - but probably over a week. I'll try to have it done as soon as possible. Hint, hint: Reviews may help get this next chapter done quicker *wink, wink*_


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